Hands are underneath the layers, and fingers undo material
We want, need and simply have to have this.
Fingers trace curves and hips run straight into each other
And we’ve both managed to have fallen under.
There is nothing but lust in our words,
The compliments are testosterone driven
The commands by estrogen

Your fingers interlock with mine, and i breath in deep
We don’t feel, need or want any of this.
Eyes meet the distance and avoid one another
And we’ve forgotten each other’s color
There is nothing in our words and less in our actions
Our compliments all feel forced
And our kisses are tasteless.

By night you make me a woman,
But come sunrise, I’m a liar.