When your heart is attached
by a string
                 or other thing...
                                           maybe a rope?
                                           or a chain?

Either way that "thing" is attached.

You and another a perfect,
or not so perfect match.

Your ideas always seem to wander back to them
Like they live at home in your brain stem.

Where everything you do or see somehow involves me..
                or she, or he, or him.
You put yourself out on that limb.

Ready to love,
                because they are your drug.

Call it what you must,
but to me, myself, and I...

                                          This is lust.

that undying feeling,

peeling,

maybe faith healing,

feeling.

When all you know is that you want them,
Right now.
Right there.
Right then.