Sex

         I’ve got a bad feeling, it’s distinguishing my thoughts,
                           But the matter is just:
   
                                         Touch and go.

         You want to have this need, but I feel the beat of rock music,
                             The Iron Maiden you keep locked behind that ribcage,
                                          I know you are barely faking it.

           Yet I breathe in this Hot Fuss your mind creates,
                            The smell of your body wash,
                 I forgot to tell you, I used it once, crept down for a midnight shower.

          “You drive me crazy,” you snarl in my studded ear, I pretend,
                           Hands like yours go unnoticed; you know all the buttons to push,
                   Laced fingers in my Beatles hair cut:

                                   “You mess up my rhythm babe.”

           Do I leave, stay, go to the fridge and find lemon/lime electrolytes, quench,
                         The door leaves me holding its handle; with you, I’m intoxicated,
                                    Moonlight paints me in the doorway:

                 You’ve left your voice, I tuckered you out, but you still sigh away,
                                    “Hello beautiful.”

                                         Will I say?