My body aches;
My loins quake;
My mind is baked
Beneath the white-hot sun of desire,
Drifting listlessly amidst the endless sands of loneliness.
My body contorts like a knuckle as my mind cracks,
Splintered by the relentless pounding of Lust\'s hammer.
Would to God that I did some pounding of my own.
Would to God that one would ensnare me in her embrace,
Lock my lips with hers;
that my hot iron might poke and prod her warm hearth.
Even the thought of such pricking sends prickling waves
Crashing with violent passion
Against the indomitable crags of my current condition.
The weight of a pair of hips smacking into mine
Is the only weight I wish to gain, then lose, then gain yet again.
I am drawn to the present-ness of such presence.
The only present that can break past-and-future\'s siege on my mind
Is a conflagratory union employing Trojan design.
So sublime would it be, but alas, woe is me,
For my body remains untouched.