Intention

Kiss me,
but not absently
without yearning for
the touch of my lips
or the scent of my skin.

Touch me,
but not as a tactile assurance
that I’m still here where you last left me,
like a lucky charm
or a well-trained pet.

Tell me
you love me because
something eases in your soul
when you speak the words,
like a hand reaching to touch
or lips that crave communion.

And I swear
I’ll never sink to my knees,
never unzip you,
never slide your cock into my mouth,
just because it’s Thursday and
that’s what we do on Thursdays.

I’ll take you in
like an incantation devoured,
roll the rich words against my tongue,
find new meaning in each
fervent phrase.

My desire
will never forget
to remember why
I want you.