She wants to fall into him,
To lose herself in the feel of his lips,
In his scent,
In the way his stubble scrapes across her skin when he tastes her.
She wants to be surrounded by him,
cocooned in his warmth,
On ever plain of their them-ness.
She wants to be taken by him,
made to feel more essential that air,
To know that she alone inspires the wanton that stoked the fire in his eyes.
the muse of his moans, his Persephone.
She wants to know him,
To be that kind of intimate it is so easy to be in the absence of love.
She wants to be wanted,
To encompass and enfold him within herself,
Want to metamorphose into this new being,
By being herself within him, while he occupies her.
She want to be owned.
Unmistakably, uninhibitedly claimed,
In word and action in a way that is…
It’s a tragic destitution to want so much.
To be so without center, insufficient, alone.
But oh what poetry to find that merging,
To have faith so richly rewarded,
To be so treasured.
She simply wants all of him.