I love it when you
initiate the fire in my bones,
kiss me slower, harder,
it will never be too much for me,
I can't get enough of you
what have you done to me?
Now I just want to devour you
and take your soul;
your lips are my anesthetic,
I think I could die on them
quite happily
after all,
pain should be rewarded
with something beyond bliss.
Poet Note: As the poet grows, so do the poems.