Not A Masturbation.

When our fingers locked by sunrise
Not the sunsets every poet wrote about

Not when the Sun is leaving us
For they listen to the Moon

Its whispers
Its plea
Its hues
Its prodigy

Soon by the time you are about
To let me live

Alone till the next sunrise, baby

Leave a mark on my neck
By the tongue I used to lick

I would whisper in your ear

'Make me cum, baby
--Harder and harder.'