I Beg

I beg of thee, mine ecstasy
To whom dost thou belong?
A little louder, if you please;
My hearing's often wrong.

My hands, however, are a gift.
And gifted back tenfold,
With every moment on thy skin
Without them, I grow cold.

As fingers cliutch and dig their nails
In both thy perfect hips,
Render thine dreams unto me
Let passion wet your lips.

And then, my Heart, my Love, my All,
Glide slowly over me,
And let the promise of my bliss
Devote the hours to thee.