Ungodly Bliss

Maybe it’s the way you call me sweetheart when you’ve really missed me,
Or maybe it’s the way you growl naughty little things into my ear when we’re supposed to be discussing the business of the day,
Or maybe it’s the way you teasingly grab me with such power and desire and then uncomfortably laugh it off right in front of everybody,
Or maybe it’s the way you tell me how you were thinking of me stripped down to nothing but a wicked smile while you were making love to your wife the night before,
Or maybe it’s the feeling of your arms around my waist, your deliciously coarse hands so close, and yet so achingly far away, from my buttocks, your body pressed against mine in a friendly hug,
Or maybe it’s the moments of electric passion stolen at opportune moments at the office, your hands so eagerly pinching at my full, youthful breasts through professional, buttoned-down attire, sliding them over my gracious hips to pause at my behind and massaging me into submission, though these same hands tremble with the fear of such a sin,
Or maybe it’s the way that you moan this is all so wrong as I massage your crotch and feel it harden within the palm of my hand at your desk after everyone has fled at the stroke of the final hour,
Or maybe it’s the feeling of your lips against mine, our tongues blissfully intertwined as you attempt to whisper we shouldn’t be doing this,
Or maybe it’s just the way your eyes twinkle as you smile at me when it’s been a long, hard day and I’m a sight for your sore eyes,
It could be any of these things that leads to the fact that any moral fiber I have inside of me unravels within your presence, and I joyfully wrestle with the demons that haunt me just to know your touch.