I wrote this at least five years ago, which seems so very sad to me.

I won't tell you the title to this, but if you guess correctly, I'll buy you a drink.

Front porch at 2 am
Slow dancing
Long black velvet dress
Barefoot loveliness
Candlelight perpetual
Sparkles in diamond blue eyes.
With her body pressed against me
Slowly we sway
To the music that sneaks out
And God watches
Millions of far away twinkling
Voyeurs
Something about this woman's flesh
Is pure arson
Resisting and yeilding simultaneously
Supple, fragrant-
Tasty
And when she moves
Her hips, side to side
Ever so slightly, seductively
Knuckle whitening agony
I am insatiable
She is unending

I capitalized the first word in each line as an inside joke to myself, this is the poem where I first learned you didn't have to do that. Anyway...