Feasts and Famines

She'd rather write to him when she's alone,
Then go to bed and think about him far
Away; indeed, she'll close her eyes and moan:
A gentle sigh at first - it will not mar
The silence of the night, until the dawn
Comes beaming through the curtains and the night
Is lost again to dreams, where fingers form
The pressure points she craves, as every slight
Movement in her panties helps her think
Of how her lips would shape around sir's cock  
And she'll stare up obligingly - a blink
Could lead to reprimand and that might shock
Her to the foundations, while she delights
In every single nuance that she writes.