Oh the Low moans and Groans
the heaving sighs of highs
the dripping juice of my longing
to feel you grasp my thighs.
A proposition as means to obsession,
end my thirst as long as you like.
Settle the probation in my eager being.
Speak slowly to my speedy body,
bay wisdoms of being to me,
so I may see
the frenetic nature in which you need.
So much not said in which to confide.
