She craves the honey that drips from my body,
I leave a trail of temptation, from my lips, to the sweet spot on her hips,
that little bit of her that makes her whole self melt when it’s touched,
and I’m in luck,
because my imagination is second to none,
and I can pretend she’s really here,
when the door flies off its hinges,
and I am haunted by the shadowy spectre that steals all my hallowed honey,
with his cruel claws.
I write her the perfect love song in my head.
I picture her, so perfectly.
I live in my daydreams of our wedding and our son’s first day at school,
until the man is done,
and I am free to fall apart in the darkness,
waiting for her.