And so, to bed...

How does he make me feel like this?
A mix of lust, and life, and bliss;
After each fleeting, breathless tryst,
I ache for one more hungry kiss.

When thoughts return to moonlight hours;
Caressing hands and steam-filled showers,
I smile and blush like hothouse flowers;
Wanting, still, to be devoured.

As Potter’s clay, he spins me warm;
Moulding my flesh to fit his form.
Like heroin, he leaves me worn,
Yet each new hit, and I’m re-born.

He weakens me, like cryptonite,
And bends my will against the night.
I neither can, nor want to, fight;
A moth burned nightly by the light.

Our passion sizzles; touches burn,
The flames may lick, but I won’t turn.
I glow, and blaze, but never learn;
For its sweet sin, I ever yearn.

The years blow hard as they pass by,
But raging fire wanes, not dies;
It re-ignites in meeting eyes:
It singed me as he touched my thigh.

And so, to bed; to play, to thrill;
To go in for the juicy kill.
To melt, and gasp, and moan, and fill,
And use my body as you will.