Truly, you have robbed me the abilty to draw air. I find that before, after, in the moment with you, I tremble.
Anticipation? Fear? Am I merely weakened by your form? Your appitite?
You have a sway over my being that creates a terrifying thill inside. A spell you cast at every opportunity to bring me to my everloving knees.
I don’t think you do this on purpose, but then again, I wouldnt put it past you. You like to bury me in your desire, smother me in your luscious filth.
Go on, suffocate me with abject lust, if you must. If that be your will.
So be it.
You may willingly have my breath.