His lips tasted of a sweet mix of my shame and gin
That left a piney bitterness lingering in the back of the tongue
And our love making as awkward as our first few encounters

But with each desperate throw of passion, each coy tug of his hair
The tense hesitancy faded and through the funnel of fulfilling
Such a base and carnal desire, I could catch glimpses of his soul

But every showing was brief
The short windows of opportunity failed my aim
I meant to take his heart, but missed
“You are not privy to this, succubus!” he accused

It seems that I am powerless


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