There is nothing reasonable about lust.
Irrationally, irascibly, I desire you--
I imagine you-- places, times, positions.
When will I be sated?
At least let me ply my curiosity long enough
(to make you cum) To see if
This is meant to grow into something larger--
I am breathless, reckless, for want of you.
What will it be, when finally I have earned
An hour of your time,
The focus of your bright/dark eyes?
One brief, shining evening
Is the happiest I have been in this place yet
And I will be as not/present as it takes
To be allowed in your space again.
For the chance of your hands--
For a moment stolen from your mouth--
I can be quick, I can be quiet,
The whole of me is not ashamed of groveling
To meet the pounding need of my blood.