It is 1:03 in the morning
Even though it does not really feel like morning
At all.

I’m writing in your book, you see
Awake longing for
You. The words escaping me
Like liquid gasoline, patiently waiting
For a fantasizing flame
Once I crawl into bed
And start moaning your name, that’s it
I can’t get you out of my head. Until I finish
I have goosebumps covering my thighs
Even though, I must say
Your hand still feels much better
Than mine.