I'm rapaciously salacious, tenaciously ostentatious. Every appetite voraciously edacious. I'm flirtatiously audacious, but fugacious as pages are capacious and calling me ungracious would be fallacious, then my outer skin's testaceous and setaceous but by nature I'm veracious and pugnacious, loquacious to make you sequacious, not mendacious though I'm hellaciously predacious and you're so damn curvaceous, those lips so vinaceous, that scent all rosaceous, you're down right bodacious.
How many adjectives can I rhyme? Throw in adverbs to add words to keep track of lost time. If I've spilled a million words in working spurts to earn my way, that's fine, because every spot of ink is worth the world to get inside.
I want you, is what I'm saying.
I'm all desires, the older I get the more I realize it. The only things that speak to me are needs and cravings, and while I'm all for the taking, I'd rather be given. You drive me mad with things I've never understood, and set me ablaze just by knowing that you could. You could reach through my pores and hook your fingers in my veins, shred my failing organs and claw your way into my brain, in turn I'd write you symphonies and shriek the verses all delirium. I'd kiss you but the kiss would be a thousand bolts of lightning, all streaking from the sky at once and turning me to ashes. I'd touch your lips just long enough to find direction for my blood to flow and when it all turned south I touch you only long enough to blow.
I've honed my tongue against the sharpened blades of all the worlds I've made, and turned the most erotic flights into those harsh realities, all I want is to turn you on, that alone would satisfy, then find that pool between your thighs, and take a dip and burst inside.
I want the taste of you to linger on my lips for days, long after the morning I awake to tangled sheets. Long after the smell of you has gone out of this room, long after you've flown west from here, guided by the stars, toward home. I wish I were less honest, or capable of promises that would entice you back into my bed, but I can only say I want you here instead of in my head.
I know my mind in ways a man should never know himself, but all that vaunted knowledge doesn't help to drive this longing out.
I want you collared, leashed, tied to my bedposts by your throat, unable to move but to protest the hungry way my teeth sink into your flesh, the insatiable wandering of tongue and hands, raking your skin and leaving the bruises and the red, ragged and jagged scratches behind like marking conquered territory. I want your back arches, legs trembling, the tone of every muscle defined by the way it strains against me, as if your own body is quarreling with how it wants more despite the agony. I'm feeling more sadist than sated and though I'd loathe to cause you pain I want to feed on every aching moan and take my nourishment from the sound a strap of wood makes when it welts your back, your legs, your ass, your breasts.
Until you beg me to stop or give into my lust. Until you want me more than I want you now.
If words won't bring you into my arms, I'll seize you. I'll storm those graceful walls and topple your defenses. I've never cared much for the seige, I prefer pitched battle on an open field, but you've conquered me from that palace I built you in my mind and though it seems deranged I find myself unable, unwilling to yield.
I'm wrapped around your finger, but before the end you'll wrap around me.
Lovingly, Lecherously Yours,
-S.R.
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