I want to
feel
something so exceedingly
pure
as the
raw passion
of your hands.

I want to
make
your skilled fingers
fumble
over themselves
while languishing
in quiet distraction.

I want to
illicit
such a perfect
response
from your
lips that
you're rendered speechless.

I want to
drive
down home a
hunger
which consumes
you that
can't be denied.

Meanwhile,
everyday I silently sipmycoffee brushmyhair watchtheworldgoby
and consequently
realize
the growth of a wallflower.

she is made of cigarettes and magic

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/desire-54/