To be or...is not in my hands

A phantom as if cigarette smoke
on a clear night
murmur of blood-lust 
under the surface 
primal need of consuming lust
between my legs 
rough hands greedy
seeking your skin
unrequited rage that burns 
like Hell's fire 
love turned mania 
in every drop of blood
I am all of this
yet none of it 
without You. 

©Lost