lust

I'm not a religious man, but I do worship your ass.

Give me Pablo Neruda, picnic beneath a full moon & iridescent stars, black olives, cherries, dark things, canoe on a river...that's romance.

Your presence resembles a dirty martini,she only drinks it when she__ thirsty.

You don't find the concept of illicit love at all engaging?___he concept, maybe. But in literature? That's like ordering a glass of tap water at a bar.

Thinking about the bed leaves you horny, but thinking beyond the bed gives you honor, freedom and wisdom.

I catch sight of Janice. Her eyes are so full of excitement that I half expect her to jump up and down. This is something she'll never forget, I tell myself. As an old lady with all the spirit knocked out of her and nobody believe in she'll remember a happy day in July when a horny young guy strutted his stuff and made her heart beat fast.

His jeans, soft against her legs, made her realize that twice tonight they'd done the deed with him more dressed than not. She liked such desperation in a man.

He tilted my chin up and I swear those lips are magic. Witchcraft. Sorcery. Whatever it is in those lips, it__ addictive. Unassailable. I had to have more. More of this feeling of being wanted.

Don't run around looking for someone who can sexually satisfy you, run around and look for the book which will intellectually satisfy you.

Wrap him up in floral wallpaper, wishing the envelopes I seal were his lips, leaving hickeys like stamps to show where he's been.

He__ kissing me everywhere, squeezing me, running his fingers over places no one else has touched

I__e never been with a boy who hasn__ seen me naked. It__ always the squeaky futon, bear-it-all, turn-off-the-lights quickstep. Don__ chalk it up to __addy issues.__aybe I__ sick of keeping private parts private. I don__ want rainwater secrets on my lips, tasting of __on__ make too much noise_. October__ dust in my lungs, maybe I don__ want bits of four AM lingering in my subconscious. Smokers breathe in fire, coat their insides in ash. Is that suicide or arson? Listen to me, listen to me. I__ alive. I__ ALIVE.I__ naked and bruised, but I__ alive. I__ not a piece of fruit. Don__ press into my flesh, looking for soft spots. My whole body is tender and rotten, but I__ alive.I__ alive and just because you can see it all, doesn__ mean you know it all

Partly James was jealous because he was a virgin, but mostly it just felt really weird being in a room with two people who'd spent the night having sex. It reminded him of the feeling you get when you pull a hair off your tongue and realise it's not one of your own.

I drank from the crisp mountain stream, tasting filtered sky with a mossy undertone. I__e never understood how being loved fully could change your entire perspective of the world. I only ever understood the wistfulness of it, and the longing and the frothy, violent bits. The mixed up, rained on parts. The escaped bits that smudge and bleed through. Slowly, I am coming to terms with how vulnerable I am to you, flat on my back like a submissive wolf pup. Daisy petals line your eyelashes, juice of a nectarine flavors your tongue. The side of your mouth twitches, hazy dreamscapes overtaking your mind while we bathe in the glorious autumn devastation.

When sex was something godlike, Lust was the profane curiosity that killed many a straying cat. Now, having removed mystery, Lust is less a long-standing, overpowering yearning, more a sudden craving of the appetite. Less quest, more impulse buy.

You're flattered because he wants to sleep with you? Who doesn't he want to sleep with?

Can you still want something you already have? Absolutely. Everyday.

Maybe they're in love.""And is that what love looks like - all wet mouths and your skirt rucked up?""Sometines it is.