He is my drug. More is never all I need.
I kiss him and I am languid, liquid joy.
I need the fix, I feel the shakes mounting.
He stokes the hearth and feeds the furnace.
I feel him on me like mink, I breath in his scent.
He is my brilliant zenith, the vortex around which I spin.
I am but the swirling edies spinning about the constancy of him.
He is my beacon, he is ever present churning my ache, my heat.
I am taken, I am lost, I am his.