These imagined kisses are not enough, my love, not nearly enough to quell the daunting clamor of this heart, this flesh, this needful being desperately longing for the warmest touch of beloved you – these embraces effacing the coldness of another day another night alone.
These overly wrought renditions of love meant to further pale the complexion of shyest moon swooning over ever slumbering Endymion. And like Selene so deeply stirring, demuring over the merest thought of you, fully formed images of you that hopeful hold my heart.
This dreadful distance callously calling words that wash over trembling timid me— taunt me no more I cry despising this time. Allow me rather to worship the wealth of you, the richly rewarding moist core of you dewy dripping your desire over my lips.
Lay before me, opening to my tongue tracing laces down your blushing skin as I whisper adoration across your breasts, suckling each firm peak teasingly adored before downward more I implore the hardening bud of you between my worshipful lips.
Let me bury my face in the moist warmth of you, my tongue licking longing lustfully to taste ever deliciously you who nourishes life, as hardened I hunger to plunge deeply within breathing most passionate pleading prayers across every inch of your sweetly pulsing flesh.
Speak, and allow this so ordinary yet daring man, who strides anonymous through a world unknown, to love you even more than words could craving say.
Think you yet that I these bare verses do compose
whilst nearly swooning ‘neath sensuous sheets?
Nay, there is more of matter than of mischief in this
for one with eyes that yet may see beyond the dawn.
That which I do crave and fully acknowledge so
proceeds not from this common venial appetite,
from mere earthly desire to know thy earthy flesh
which tantalizes and torments this monkish brute.
I have yet a heart, you must know, which rises still
beyond the petty bounds of Eros inspired cupidity,
striving for that which cannot be so easily silenced
as seems your oft frigid companionship to achieve.
I am a man and capable at least of just so much
affection and need as any clinging barefaced lout
whose approaches you have so wantonly welcomed
bedded within the folds of your dismissive lust.
Enough of this game, most malicious mistress.
Be shut of me and I of you, and so enshrouded
in the malignant darkness that hastens between us
may I at last discover that elusive peace I do seek.