Sex, sex is for the addicts.
The drunks who need their drugs to have it.
We, we make love.
Often times under the right influence before we get to it.
The destination only arrived at through the feels that come like waves,
Exciting from the look of it but capable of drowning unless settled at their desired stop, the shore.
So, relax my darling. Nothing sentimental will come from your high.
I have never imagined making love to you in that state of mind,
For I cannot be sharing you with a drink that can never match my worth.
So be done with it before I get my time.
I can only have all of you, all to myself, especially deep within your bloodstream.
Only then will the feelings flowing inside you be a curation of my presence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem