Knowing your face,
the way your mouth tastes,
and your reaction when the pleasure hits,
but never your name.
Hanging onto the past, because,
now, thats all we have.
Falling apart in measured steps,
when the ease fits.
The friction our bodies create,
and timing your heart beats.
Not knowing who you are,
or what you want,
but counting on your moaning
to tell me just what.
Over-thinking and
over-feeling;
Always wanting to feel this.