Feral.

 An undated collection of "unholy thoughts"

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The thought of you makes me feral in a way 
I can't quite explain
Why else would I be thinking about
Clawing off your jacket
Licking your chest and
Claiming your body as
Mine all mine 

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Something about your voice

Feels wildly intimate;

No matter the words

Or the intent behind them

They always make my stomach twist

In such a way that's maybe

Just a bit too similar

To how it did back when

Your fingers were curled up

Inside of me

And you had me calling out your name

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Take me to the Trevi Fountain at midnight

after we’ve had too much wine

and wandered too many winding streets

to remember where our hotel is.

Let your hands skim the cold travertine—

then trail along my skin,

just enough to make me shiver

in the weightless summer warmth.

Catch that glint in your eye,

like coins scattered beneath the surface.

Pull me past the barricades,

command me like Poseidon,

until neither of us can say

what soaked me first—

your touch,

or the fountain.

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Your eyes cross just a tad

As you inch closer

And the tip of your nose brushes mine

Your pupils are blown wide

As your lids shut slowly

And you pull me towards you

Suddenly forcing the taste of myself

On your lips to meet mine

And you whisper that

I'm your favorite meal

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Everyone always talks about the "V" of a man's body

Where the belt line shifts low, and the towel sits dangerously, threatening to untuck

But when I think of all of the "V's" you have, that's never going to be my favorite

How could it be

They've clearly never seen you lick your fingers clean, all the way to the webbing, after you insisted on using them to get the last bit of jelly from the jar

And they've most certainly never kissed where your collarbones meet and felt the vibrations of your pleasure resonate through their lips, knowing they were the cause for what sounded like the beginning of an otherworldly roar

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