There are so many poems written by men lusting after women. Traditionally, women are almost always depicted as the passive objects of desire rather than active or, god forbid, enthusiastic participants. It feels like a good time to start redressing the balance.

This is not love this is lust, she should have said.

I’ll trust in my body far more than my head.

So, forget such tender feelings and come to bed.

Come to bed my creature of delight,

My desire for you cares not for day or night.

I want to curl myself around you,

To bound you with my limbs

To lie with you, entwine you like a pretzel

I want to breathe you, smell you,

Tell you all of my darkest desires.

To wear you like a skin

To feed upon your sin.

Let me get lost nestling in your neck,

In your hair, your armpit,

Please, give me my hit.

Your pheromones will not elicit fairer moans than mine

I’ll imbibe you like a fine wine,

Gulp you down to quench my thirst

I might burst in my greed for you.

Let me gnaw on your haunches,

Dine upon your thighs

Kiss your lips, your fingertips

It won’t be refined,

I can’t drink you in sips.

I’ll nibble on your ears,

Lick away your tears,

Offer my fears for your delectation

Offer my sweat for your libation.

I must taste your face,

Butter you with my disgrace.

With you, I can’t be chaste,

I’ll baste myself to your preferred flavour,

Savour me, darling, eat me whole.

My baser instincts have control

If I have a soul, it wants to sin

With you, so climb in,

Fill me with yourself.

Toast your health before me

Then feast upon my flesh

I’m best served fresh.

So relish every last morsel

Until your reach my core

Then indulge some more, in me.

Let us engorge ourselves on one another.

But for god’s sake,

Don’t call me your lover.

All this she should have said, as she led him to her bed.