I am not the poet you deserve,
Nor the artist to make such splendid art,
I am not the designer to vintage,
Nor a composer of fine music or craft.
I am a tiny human
Devouring the basics of touch,
I am not kind or noblest of all,
But I am your lover.
If not forever but just now.
I am the passion to make you kiss my lips
And hold me too tight for my taste.
I am that kind of love
To take you through melodies undefined,
Even when you know no sound,
To make you question your existence
Yet savour the underlying lust.
I am that kind of desire,
Where you run recklessly in rain,
Yet not be as wet as you would be,
When you see me naked,
Or when you feel my sultry breath on your skin.
And still I am that kind of care,
When you wake up to me caressing through your hair
And you’d feel no need to wake up
And thus lie deadly bare.
But the funny thing is,
It’s not just me, in fact, it’s all you,
Who could drive me so exotically and erotically crazy.
And thus I sit here, all bare,
With nothing on me but you.
