I watch your world from behind this mask,
brooding in spite of myself.
You are glorious, captivating all those that draw near.
They are moths to your flame, while I have a fire of my own.
I don't need you,
but I want you.  
There is no reason,
just desire.

We meet by chance and luck,
but you're looking through the cracks in the porcelain.
You see what I keep secret, far away from prying eyes of others.
And you begin to wonder, and you begin to crave me as well.
I don't need to,
but I want to.
There is no reason,
just desire.

I want to show myself to you,
though I'm afraid that you may run from the sight.
I'm breaking from this shell, I'm pulling off this skin.
Your face betrays you, your fear sickens me to violence.

I don't need to,
but I want to.
There is no reason,
just desire.

My body aches in thought of you,
at all times, of the day, of the night.
I try to hold back,
not to overwhelm you with this need.
But I can't.  You are something I have to have.

Just thinking of your smile,
your hands, your body, your whisper.
I'm shivering in spite of my will,
to keep this all inside, to keep from bursting.
Please, notice me.
See my glances.  Tell me you want this too.

Tick.  Pop.  Tick.  Pop.
Time s l o w s as eyes flutter, out of focus.
Breath comes quick, then gone like a retreating tide.
The pearl that is the human mind
has lost its luster to this stiumlant storm.
Lights flash, images warp, gradiated and foggy,
and with them, pictures of memories I'd rather forget.
I slip into this self-induced coma;
not to be happy, not to be satisfied,
simply to be nothing at all.

I can see the moon, and I can see you.
To me, you could outshine Her with your smile...
if you really wanted to.
Your expressions are brought to life
by the glow of the fireflies in the night so quiet.
The ghosts of the graveyard would draw us in
and to the Tangled Tree in Chains we'd run.
The wind would catch in your ebony locks,
and I was so jealous, of anyone and everyone,
that had anything to do with you.
I await the gaze of those Irish moss irises
at my snowstorm baby blues,
but I am walking-stick-thin and prone to rainfall.
Do you feel my heart bloom
when your weather-worn fingers trace the bones in my face,
and my cheeks smear with the color of ripe raspberries
in the midst of a fair summer?
When we peek through the tall grass with feline eyes,
spying upon the fire deities in the tumescent black,
I hope they will never call you away from me
with the heart-break sunrise with which you will flee.

With the fresh breath of passion, you bless my skin.
Lips like embers glowing, moving,
to places I don't want anyone to see.
Fingernails leave trails down our backs
with the purpose of drawing honey blood
to the surface to mix with the sweat.

Is it me that makes those eyes come alive?

Whisper a secret, in my ear, what you want of me.
Tease so much it aches in my bones;
trace burning masterpiece bruises.
You meet my melody with your own reserved harmony
that I love to feel on my neck and tendons.
We are sultry savages in the face of lust.