Off and On

When someone takes your clothes off, piece by piece.
There's a fire burning in your lions.
You want him, more than anything in the world, you want him.

You kiss.
Your tongues find each other.
They dance.
Mate.
Connect.
Become one.

He holds you in his arms, you're in love.
All of a sudden.
Your guards drop.
You're naked and vulnerable in front of him.
The two of you know you want to make love.
For a change.
Probably your first time.
You want his love more than his hunger this time.
He treats you gently, doesn't reprimand you like the other times when you two've frolicked in public spaces, cars, rooftops, rooms etc etc.
He enters you without his guard on.
His heart is his dick.
So gentle, so loving, so satisfying.
You don't orgasm but you feel strangely ecstatic, like you're on drugs.
You feel whole for a fraction of a second and you want to hold on to that feeling forever.

You make endless and eternal love on an afternoon as the sunlight soaks in through the curtains. You're in his room, you want to be in his heart.
Hours seem like mere minutes.
The deed is done, you're back to wearing your clothes again.

Why must he tell you that he loves you when he doesn't.
He mistakes lust for love.
You mistake love for lust.
Game over.