A Thoracic Curve

I will lift up my arm, so his hand
Finds my thoracic curve is in reach;
His touch is electric and planned
It's designed to make me beseech
His contact; he keep me from slumber
By charging my pulse, so my heart
Is ready to burst, as my lumbar's
Indulged, until each body part
Is alert, prepared and quite ready
For further demands: let his palm
Cup my buttock, then I will stay steady
Knowing his clutches won't harm;
Bringing me pleasure from pressure
I want him to be so emphatic;
He loves every sense he can measure,
But dotes on the curve that's thoracic.