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.