I itch to grip her wrists, delicate like rose stems.

I crave to pin her down, so she’ll know she’s mine.

There is a lustiness to ambition. An aphrodisiac to power.

It hides behind family friendly gatherings.

It’s masked in the monotony of everyday routine.

But, deep down, every man wants to use her, without a care.

And have her love you for it.

Autumn trees surround the empty house, miles from downtown.

A silky saxophone note fills the silence.

We sway.

I lose all sense of time, of any moment but this one.

The faint taste of champaign, lingering on a kiss.

The flush of warmth, as it pumps through my body.

Until I can’t tell one from another.

Love from want. Desire from intoxication.

I just am. She just is.

As the sun sets, we become the same.

– SB