What I Want

I want you to be my pornography.
I want to take you home
and make you my own.
I want a kiss to the wrist
and the back of my hand.

I want to taste your flavors,
be infused with you,
take you inside and know you,
through and through.

I want to explore your body,
find places no other man has been,
(virgin territories) if there are any left.

I want you to say I do,
and be my wife, my blood,
my bones, my soul, my life.

I want you to be my bedroom slut,
and the perfect mother
to our sons, our daughters,
my Madonna, my whore.

I want to show you off
to friends and strangers,
play dress-up and doctor,
take you out in leather and lace,
wire and cuffs, put you over
my knee and be your teacher,
fill the world with envy.

I want to sleep with you
by my side, year after year,
grow old together, forever,
an eternity of you.
I want a name to summon you by,
and to hear my own in turn
dripping from your tongue.

I want the courage to say hello.

christopher.... '05

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