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Trite
You write me like lyrics to a song
My head spins round, my heart feels numb
With my finger on repeat
We evaporate into the sheets
The moon is full our hearts in heat
A howl, a cry, a vehement sigh
The night is young & full of fervor
The taste of your skin is sweet to savor
Pillow-talk feels so impersonal
When I look into your eyes what do I see?
It's best I don't say
For to sleep perchance to dream
And dream I must
To quench the flames of a fervent lust.
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