Leave it to him to go and uproot the gradually established
foundation,
with a mere declaration of inclination, (ah, these new sensations)
that was everything I thought I knew about *** and my anticipated participation in it.
I was confident and comfortable, I admit it,
to settling warm and boring in the list of 'never been *****'.
Never adorning to the glory of the morning
after
where pillows and sheets are shared
with spoonings and sweet nothings and laughter, and oh, how I
care
to finally share with him places inside myself I've never dared
let come to light before—this sensation entirely new and rare
and candidly honest.
To be fair, it isn't easy for me to express, and oh how I would
attest
to the best way to attain truth and satisfaction, for it's a rickety bridge to cross when I've claimed
I can't experience ****** attraction.
But my darling whatever it is you've awakened demands I take action
because I am listening to the hum of desire
and with it feel the roasting of my ***** in that brand new fire
like the Renaissance and a brightening sky at dawn.
It's withdrawn, but symbolic and poised, like the flight of a dove.
After all, isn't there a reason they call it
Making Love?
All other romantic pursuits forgone,
You’ve thus far managed to do the unthinkable; you turn me on
and I can feel the lust searing from the inside,
out,
while I'm hearing your revering and circumstance prevents me to
doubt
that this hedonistic dream I'm fearing has been nearing me
in an ambush that began with September thirteen—
an exciting, hazardous route
down a path of love and a cornucopia of potential yet to be seen.
I love you not as a passing season or a fleeting
whim;
I love you terribly and without practical reason;
your name glued to my heart with toxic adhesion; a world without you now proves pretty
dim
And the *** part—



Life is intimate and if I'm going to be, too, it'll be with him.