Sappho probably said it better

 
 
 
But I cannot
simply dismiss  
the way they  
said about
 
how I wasn't
kidding about  
my towering
resistance
 
and I recall
 
how patience
grew thinner
than a single
hair strand,
 
feeling  
heat rise
in-between  
two columms
 
waiting for  
divine miracles
to descend on
their narrow  
stairwell.
 
I've always
been about
the waiting  
 
like having
enough time
in the day to
catch prey  
 
as soft faces
slowly smear
and blur into  
each other,
 
letting my
fingers draw  
intricate maps  
on their skin  
like sparklers
 
as I inhale  
every sigh  
they echo
 
down the  
long halls  
of my throat,
 
nobody  
talks about
the chaos  
in waiting
anymore
 
how jaws
slowly fill
with water
to meet the  
rim of a cup,
 
their burning
gaze as they  
try desperately  
not to cave
 
in gifting  
me their
aching
kiss.