Your promises come out
as pre-splintered words,
already having a tarnish.
And yet I am hopeful,
always, that I may be able
to pick them up, rub them
with my shirtsleeve just so,
and see the gleam of a true
promise. But no matter how I try,
how tenderly I handle the pieces
of your intentions, they always
crumble in my fingers,
confetti litter on the floor.

There are tremors within,
and my skin undulates
with the effort of containing
the ripples as they gain strength.
The constant fervor
of my mind is disguised
by my placid façade.
Look closely though,
concentrate enough to see
a glimmer of the disturbance,
and you'll glimpse the clamor
hiding close under the surface.
Quick! Did you see that twitch?
An explosion is imminent,
take cover.

Place your teeth in that area
that so commonly
brings about such pleasure,
where so many others
love to feel the presence
of sensual sensations.
But take it passionately further
for me, harder than a nibble,
enough to cause a sharp intake
of breath accompanied
by a widening of eyes.
I get moist just from the sensation
of your teeth teasing goosebumps
from their hiding places
beneath my skin.

But the biggest difference with you, sir,
is your ability to time this
most delicious of temptations.
Done at the most precise moment,
you have the ability to catapult me
right over the precipice.
And your timing,
oh baby,
is your timing perfect.