All day I wait to hear your moan.
Though winter's sun can't warm my skin,
memories of your murmured words
make me burn with shame and yearning.

Morning drags its feet toward noon.
All day I wait to hear your moan.
While you and I, with limbs entwined
will late tonight give voice to lust

I now, in silence, seek mercy
from the clock's recalcitrant hands.
All day I wait to hear your moan;
arousal, a steadfast presence.

Far too early, yet I am wet
and aching for each fervent thrust,
for whispered sin against my lips.
All day I wait to hear your moan.