Desperate to come
Your voice at the receiver
The quicken in your pulse
With your breath like a feather
Fluttering
Muttering
Dirty ideas
Into my sweet and delicate ears
The sound of the traffic in the echo of your call
Sirens, and horns
A symphony or porn-
Ographic background sound
I can really hear you pound
Your flesh - with the grip of your hand
And I make my fingers dance
Between my holy legs
With 3000 miles between our beds
It's 5am with me.
I make you beg for sweet release
And then we make it happen.
