When you touch my body
it's just a casual pass.
Lust is not the first thing on your mind,
it seems it's next to last.
A mindless passing squeeze,
a casual stick and poke.
Treating my desire
as if it were a joke.

I've never felt so much
like a bag of flesh and bones.
No beauty and
no mysticism,
No tempting burlesque show.
Only breast and hip,
only foot and toe.

I guess I'm the last one left
to caress and pry.
I wish I could kiss my collarbone
and fleshy inner thighs
just right.

But most of all I wish
your passion ate you
when I was nearby.