On Love and Pop Rocks

I have said these things already.
It haunts me that you are male.
Unlike me.
I want everything you are.
When I look at you, I crave to
Ingest your essence.
I want to lick every part of you.
I want to know what every inch
Of your skin tastes like.
I want to know what your sheets
Smell like. When I look at you,
I feel it everywhere. There is not
A part left on me that doesn't
Burn and tingle and melt
And crave to be as near you as possible.
I think in your bed I would feel like
A child at Disneyland. I cannot
Conceive of ever growing tired
Of you. You are a gift, and one
That would be like having
A birthday every day but not
Getting sick of it. I can focus
And stare at a single part of you.
Your hands, your collarbone,
Your ear, the mole on your neck.
It makes me feel like there's a
Hand inside me pulling to be
One with you. I crave any contact
With you. Any way we might touch.
I feel like a giddy giggling schoolgirl
Around you. I feel like a warm soft
Ball of trembling ache and need.
You intoxicate me, just the sight
Of a lock of your hair liquifies
My insides and makes me feel like
A hundred packets of Pop rocks
Are going off inside me, and I drank
A three liter of soda with them too. Please,
Don't ever stop. It's easy.
You only have to do two things.
Don't stop breathing
And just keep sitting there.