Sonnet 94 - Communion

I cannot seem to stop thinking of you.
It’s not the rolling, the writhing, the screams:
for hot monkey love, any wench will do.
Making love with you is the stuff of dreams,

a dance of immense and intimate joy.
It is sacred - the only communion
that any man is likely to truly
understand.  This is no simple union

of two bodies.  Our spirits reach across
time and miles, each seeking for the other
with fierce urgency and deep tenderness
in the instant we are not together.

I’m a simple man of one mind, of one
thought. Separate us and I am undone.