Peccato

There are too many miles, too many days, too many boundaries
Between where we are and where we ought to be,

Wrapped in each other's arms, and thoughts, and sins,

Basking in the quiet of Los Angeles. 

There are too many words I'd like to string together,

And whisper in the dark as you lay asleep

Nestled between my arms, my legs, my fantasies

Laid bare at those well-traveled feet. 

There are too many questions we'd have to answer, dear,

If we gave in on what you pulled in me,

What you awakened, what I can freely give,

As long as you ask for everything in me. 

I'd like to say that this is your mess to clean up.

And put the responsibility of this goddamn string on you. 

I think I need you to close the gap between us,

And tangle those fingers in my fiery hair.

I need you to pull me against you and dance in my breast

Like the smoke of a last cigarette post-dessert. 

I don't want to worship. I don't want to beg,

I don't want to be someone that just lays in your bed,

I'd like to be equal, I'd like to be brave

For once, I'd like to be selfish and make the request

That you surrender all that you are, all that you've ever been,

Between my parted lips, and share in my sin.