Insatiable Hunger

And for the first time, 
I invited him in.
Not as a joke, 
a plea. 

I was hungry. 

He was starving.

I don't even think he had time 
to digest his surroundings 
before he was on top of me.
Lips colliding with flesh—
clothes hurled to the floor. 
Sensual,
primal,
fueled by instinct and famine.

The room,
too warm,
even with the fan whirling above us.
His touch sears my skin, 
while each breath feeds the flame,
setting my body ablaze.

And before I knew it, 
the fire came to a halt,
extinguished by breathless clarity.

He stands, 
putting himself back together,
looking as if nothing happened.
His hunger,
sated.
Mine—insatiable,
silently begging him to stay.

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