You took my hand. Cold and anxious it was.
It was desperate and honest.
You lead me to a door, to the waiting room, fed me bits of you, questioned my beliefs, desired my body, built my want.
You took me to that room, leaving me there hungry for more.
Always wanting more.
Grasping for more.
You sat me down and glanced at me, my eager eyes waiting for your next play.
You’ve left me wet with a hungry desire.
I’ve never felt the fiend like this before.
I’m done. You’ve won.