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.