Pressed against my lips

I have this memory of a story that never happened
and I can't control these thoughts I'm having
The shortness of breaths between misteps in my speech
I think it's your presence that makes me weak

I just keep coming back
with my nervous reactions
and my white boy dancing
and every friend of yours that kept clouding my passion
and trashing this state that I'm in
and the sin I imagine, pressed behind my lips
I wish this bliss exacted in my thought
but left distraught and lost
could be left in your trust
Where I know it'd be put to use