want

I want you rushing up my landing’s stairs,
I want you banging down my door to let you in.
I want you fevered for the sight and smell of me.
I want you running down my hallway in
  a streak of terrifying eagerness
   to squealing leap on me spread legged
   to hinge and cling and concentrate
   yourself around my hips
I want you burying your face against my neck
I want you captive chaining up my arms in yours,
I want your fingers vicelike, crucent,  in my hair
I want you grasping hard my wrists,
   and stretching out my arms
   and tugging, angle arched by my stolidity,
   my body towards the bed room door
I want your ripping all my clothes to rags,
I want you breathing heat and striving hard to loose the buckle of my belt,
I want your hungry hands against my chest
I want them set and coiled like springs
   to push me backwards mattress bound and into ravishings,
I want your eyes to shine desire into the dark
   before you grasp my head between your hands
   to make my mouth an easy target for your kiss,
I want your fingers steely curved around the upper reaches of my thighs
I want you crying out my name as if there’s hurt in saying it,
I want you inarticulate.
I want you clamant, urgent,  pulling me tenaciously,
   one arm around my waist, the other shoulder laced,
   against your breasts, your ivory warmth,
   when I have turned my back to you,
   or when I foolishly attempt,
   no matter what the reason I might give,
   to leave you, lone you, in  my bed while you are there,
   reminding me of what I lose when you are not.