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Can’t Wait to Touch You
And keep you close to me
Can’t Wait to Touch You
I’m no rogue bomber, dear Asha, I believe in loving my bother as myself.
But I want to lay siege to your soul, insinuate myself into your circle so you have no choice but to love me.
There’s no hotter item than the sun, no deeper meaning than the spiritual plane I try to exist on.
I know it’s nothing personal that you sleep with these other boys; I’m not looking for a platform from which to spout about politics or even my jealousy.
These guys just graze and cheat with you — they are neither of an honest quality nor are they loyal.
I hover above you like a ghost, hide in the steam from your shower like a friendly being that just wants to wrap itself around you.
I make a side of rice for our dinner, always enough to share with people hungrier than us.
Later you will strap me to the chair and induce a sort of mild suffering, like how a dog is jealous of a cat.
You lose all inhibition like a lion — whip me lightly like a glacier across the landscape.
I would do anything to satisfy you, crouch in any corner.
I believe in literacy and staying in line, I’m not some king looking to behead anyone.
So when we hang out by the pool you’ll consider it the norm to gaze up at a constellation while eating a banana.
I’m conscious of how you wrap your lips around it, and if it’s your goal to tantalize you’re incredibly successful.
Here’s my advice: applaud my style once in a while, take off my collar and ask me what I’d like for dinner.
You arch your back when we’re making love and I think it’s my fault.
I’ve always considered myself a fair lover and maybe a better thinker, the greatest ideas yet to come.
We watch football and try to forget the road, how the temperature has changed recently.
The guideline I’d like to toss in the trash is the one that serves to restrict our passion, so to hell with that.
