The body often wants
what the heart can’t have
So take the entire, existential day off,
and see if we may make peace
with that fact
But know that I don’t mean
the kind of peace which holds hands
through a hymn;
I’m talking about two satisfied figures,
lying nude beneath the private light
of steamy stained-glass
You probably suspect I’m not afraid
of sampling all your spices,
but I doubt you accurately estimate
just how deep my hunger for you runs
The hourglass is spilling our chances
with every silent breath we take
And I, for one, am not interested
in being emptied of legs to stand on,
never having felt my toes in your sand
That doesn’t make me Frankenstein;
doesn’t make you his monster
We’re simply something akin to vampires,
and it isn’t blood we dream of sucking
I understand how much you sacrifice
for the tame stability of love
However, there’s a powerful piece
of passion, which we’ve both forsaken,
and I would offer that neglected vein
an intoxicating pulse, and fresh flesh;
free of charge
There is nothing that I would rob you of,
save the suicide of your sensuality
So keep your world
the way you fought to have it,
but kindly risk more
than the thought of me
within that pair of wet panties
you’re always wearing
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