The wolf no longer howls at the moon, It no longer rises or falls for him.

I wish to be lost in you like hearing a melody,

Swing back and forth in forward repetition,

Pleasantly, playing with you breathlessly,

To have ambition for this fight of attrition,

To see you squirm, to wiggle in loud moaning,

To watch those legs become stiff boards,

Have the moans burn down to groaning,

Hear you cite gods name in given awards,

Till you can longer suffer the anticipation,

And end in repetitious snoring,

Till I hear you once more.