Earthquake [part 1/3]

I have no idea what to call this,
this thing that you do to me - this
upside-down tremor of an almost-earthquake
at the pit of my stomach.
I don't know what to call it,
because fear and happiness are both
equally as earth-shattering in my body,
and I don't know which category
you belong to.
Science made a mistake when it didn't
mark your mouth as a point
on the Richter Scale.
And now, I am all tremble and chaos,
holding my breath for you.
All of the thousand mile aftershocks
knocking words off my tongue.
Us-
just the two of us with summer wrapped
around our throats
No -
you as the epicenter,
you as ground zero.
You,
as tequila and regret on my tongue,
the early hours of the morning where
we are the least afraid to talk to each other.
Me,
self-conscious and wanton,
erasing all the soft confessions I want
to share with you,
coveting the parts of myself,
I do not know if I am ready
to give to you,
yet here we are.
Me,
laying out my secrets for your judgment,
naked on the bed.
And you,
standing with the power to shatter me into a million pieces,
like an earthquake,
with your back to me.