Intensity: A Poem About Love and Passion

I felt the warmth of his breathing on my neck,
his fingertips grazed lightly across my thigh.
It was anticipation I knew all too well.
He had a way of bringing me to my knees,
and we hadn't even reached the core of the flame.
This is what I wanted.
It was what I needed and I was too far in to let go.
Not that I wanted to.
What I wanted was to pull him closer,
take all of him in a rush of desire too strong to deny.
He showered me with a kiss,
a kiss so powerful it could have been suicide.
That's what the game was about after all, wasn't it?
We would entwine our bodies beneath the sheets,
each of us trying desperately
to hold the intensity in the art of seduction
until we had none left to give.
Of course this was a thought which only drove my desires
and I kissed him harder, allowing my body to succumb
to the quivering taking place in the sweetest part of my being.
Wetness was irrelevant,
for his lips gave way to a heat laced with the sweet taste of corruption.
I knew in that moment that I would have him
in ways incomprehensible to the world.
Our bodies had come together in a single point of eruption,
yet I could feel the intensity
swelling up again
coming over me in waves of undeniable ecstasy.
He was exactly what I needed,
the drug of choice for a body that craved so much more than simple pleasures and a forgotten touch.