His wanting is like the wave
that laps the silence of the shore,
His breath is like the soft, soft breeze
that leaves you wanting more,
His touch so softly as a sponge
returning back to form,
Felt, but maybe not,
and then desiring more,
His kisses are like water
upon the thirsting soul,
Parched lips, dry eyes
I drink and drink,
My love,
unquenchable.
s.k. lindeman