Poetry: Afterburn

You thrill me, my darling, my dear.
You speak and I rise to your occasion
My left side tenses at the sound of your voice
I laugh, I blush, I draw nearer to your signal
I'm taking everything in, inhaling
I'm tuned in to your signal
My voice rises an octave
My left arm draws in and chin rests on the hand
Like a bird with the wing held close
It's my only protection
A flimsy shield from this blister