Obsessive internment

What is it about women?

That peculiar tilt of head,
when hair cascades upon a so soft shoulder
or her voice in melodic lilt
as it dances around the rim of your ear
and her long lashes fan up and down,
a curtain call to blazing blues eyes
whose shine ignites your lust,
combed cotton stretched taut by proud bosoms
   Into an alluring snowy swell  until desire demands you bury
your lips, your teeth, your face
into firm flesh and pert nipple

trace curves with fingertips
tentative, then determined
to uncover the mystery of her allure
unearth the Sphinx,
crawl through her catacombs
rattle her bones
curl her toes and expose the secret
behind her enigmatic smile
all the while unable to understand
the impetus which drives you
to push on and on and on
uncaring of future  consequences

instinctual urges to purge yourself
empty your seed and soul
into a willing and wanton altar
at which you pray and play and pay
a price for obsessive impulses
make a sacrifice,
become enslaved
to that feeling of utter elation
that comes from being entwined, exhausted
and entombed.