It's not a dopamine boost, baby,
It's the cry of your pleasure.

It's not the quenching of lust, my dear,
It's the taste of your essence.

It's not just ecstasy, my honey,
It's pain undoing itself.

It's not a plain hug, my darling,
It's restraint freeing itself.

For you are not my reaction, my love—
you are action sensing itself.