After a good workout, when I'm hot and sweaty,
I want you more than any other time.
I want to taste you.
You're so fresh.

Others know you, but not like I.
I love your wraps that surround you.
That surround the flesh.
I'm drooling.
Let them stare.
You're there for me whenever I crave you.
When I desire you. And I go to you sometimes even when I don't.
And that happy latino dance music you like to play makes me want to dance.

But most of the time I just want you naked.
All laid out in front of me.
“Have a bowl,” you say.
“I just want you in my hands, right now.” I say back.

You always make me thirst with your hotness,
I drink water.

After class, before class, sometimes I think about you during class.

“I want you in my hands,” I say again.
“No really, have a bowl,” you say again.
I give in and I take a bowl.

Then,
I begin to devour you with passion.
Moaning and giggling.
Our bodies become one as I begin to breath heavier and heavier.
I being twitching in pleasure when suddenly I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Sir, you're going to have to leave Chipotle.”