It is three o’clock in the morning
And my mind is cluttered with
Thoughts of you.
When I finally begin to drift away,
The sound of your voice rolls over me in waves
And crashes against my heart
As if I were the tide.

It is four o’clock in the morning.
The lingering memory of your touch
Makes my skin shiver
With lust? Or fear of still lusting after you?

Four-thirty drags itself in,
And I toss and turn in bed
Unable to hide under the covers.
Being tortured with the image
Of your eyes igniting with mine
Sets flames upon my heart
And my hate for you melts away.

Five o’clock greets me with the twilight sky,
The sun preparing to rise.
Hidden birds mock each other
Eager for the day, and I wonder
If they got as much sleep as I.

The faded world brightens,
And I continue to lay awake,
Hoping that you were haunted with
The sound of my voice,
And the trace of my skin on yours.
I pray that lust whispers in your ears
at ungodly hours
That your heart burns with flaming desire
At the image of me
No longer
  Needing
   You.