Tasty Sin

There is a song that plays over and over in my head.
In this melody reflected are images of your burning bed.
A flash of skin, the humming of an endless moan,
the smell of lust and want mixed with sounds of silent groans.

The taste of you lingers in the darkness of my mind.
Salty sweet, delectable, a wicked, spicy grind.
A violent dance of need, a rhythm beating like a bass.
A look of contorted pleasure and pain, fixed upon my face.

A flame ignited by mutual longing, loneliness and greed.
A raging inferno so damned loud my ears begin to bleed.
The pleasure you inflict on me, I simply cannot explain.
Its only dirty if you do it right, I am thoroughly entertained.

You hurt me real good baby, you burned my inner core.
We were made to misbehave, what else is living for?
In the background a storm rages in the outside world.
It compares not to the storm in me that you so wistfully unfurled.

The melody keeps turning, escalating wildly with desire.
I enjoy this dance we do through pain and sweat, a hard-core fire.
Every ache and burning muscle, a reminder of your tactile embrace.
I want to sample you repeatedly, any time and any place.

You appeal to my darkness, to every dirty thought I might possess.
You read my wanton longings and in my thoughts you make a mess.
With you, there is no order in the chaos I want to experience.
I don’t much care for sense or reason, I welcome the incoherence.

In frustration I bite my lip, my patience wearing thin.
The melody perpetually inducing me to need your tasty sin.