Morning Thirst

I feel your morning thirst - it's in the air
That's pushed aside when you strip me as stark
And naked as the birch branches, so bare
Outside, where winter fog now makes its mark;
Just as you do with little pleasantries -
You are a pleasant man with pleasant views,
And pleasant observations - as you seize
My throat with your spread hand; and, when you choose
To press me down, you take the oxygen
That rests within me, necessarily;

Ignored, unshared by other gentlemen,
Who may have passions to own property,
Such mysteries ensure my beating heart
Races, while mixed-up fearful thoughts collide;
Though you brush them lightly aside; you part
My thighs - to wrap them round and press inside;
The sun shines down through frosted, bare branched trees
On joys and griefs to be experienced,
When we are fucking, as hard as you please,
On foggy winter days, 'til your thirst's quenched.