I Beg

I beg of thee, mine ecstasy

To whom dost thou belong?

A little louder, if you please;

My hearing's often wrong.

My hands, however, are a gift.

And gifted back tenfold,

With every moment on thy skin

Without them, I grow cold.

As fingers cliutch and dig their nails

In both thy perfect hips,

Render thine dreams unto me

Let passion wet your lips. 

And then, my Heart, my Love, my All, 

Glide slowly over me, 

And let the promise of my bliss

Devote the hours to thee.

-- Jack