I thought maybe if I wrote about you, I would exorcise what has now become a sweet torment for the mind. Let’s wallow in self pity since beyond your touch and your kisses a bottle massages what was once whole.
I could call you an addiction but that means one day I would have to find a cure to you. Who even needs a cure?
Do you see what you do to me? How will you see when your face is buried in my chest and you wrapped around my body? Delectable moments that drive shudders of pain down my heart yet bring warm pleasure to my body.
Who cares if it will not last? Do good things ever last? Do they need to?
Maybe you were made to make me wreath in pleasure only to throw thorns along my path,
Ah, what is pain when all I see is the way you look at me? The way you want me.
You do want me, even the blind can see that you crave me,
Of course you do want me, I am the only thing in this world compatible with your turmoil.
When my storm met your whirlwind, a tornado sprout into life. It tore through my life with a force of a thousand stars
Like a child forcefully taking in its first painful breaths, the sudden realization that maybe me without you is a myth.
Oh, how you incite rage in me yet around you I am the most docile of demons.
What a strange one this is!