The Consumption

Maybe it is time,

Time to tell you about my story of love,

Our story,

Maybe I should tell you about him, about us,

Him that touches my blouse like a page he wants to turn,

You know I love many things about him,

But most importantly I love how he writes out love story,

Inside me with his fingers,

How his touch on my bare back ignites that old flame,

Giving me a tingling feeling,

Of sensational waves throughout my body,

I love how his hands move,

As my body gyrates on his,

Making me become transparent,

For him to see through my soul,

How desire is written all over his face,

Every time he eats,

The sunbeam shining in my body,

Every time he bites my small navel,

Giving me hickeys all over my tummy,

I love it when we align mouths,

As our souls intertwine,

Making me shake at the touch of his hairy body,

And the shock of his phallus,

As he straddles my legs,

To insert his divine person where he belongs,

Making me realise that he's that missing piece,

Of my life's jigsaw puzzle,

Thank you for allowing me to breathe your warmth,

And always reminding me that our story began with my loud caterwaul,

And ended with my entire soul on his lips,

Because I was made for him,

And him for me.