I am not the stuff of lover, only friend
Affection trust and faithfulness
But no passion, no desire
You want to talk, confide 
You want everything....but me
No racing heart, no aching breast
I do not set your soul on fire
As intimate always second best

How many life-long pairs I muse
Their most lusty partner choose
Men presume these are the same
But she knows life is more than just a game
Desire not love may make the world go round
But wives and mothers need a safer ground
Excitement, danger stirs the blood but
More than thrill and risk - he must be sound. 

But passion stirs in every breast
Desire o’erwhelms even gentle, thoughtful souls
As their words, their poems and their songs attest
I love you but I want you too
But as equal not as master of your sense
Two selves two bodies joined as one
Not selfish grunts and groans of fun
But privilege to share a cherished reticence 

What is it that I lack - benign threat perhaps
Uncertainty or thrill? A will to dominate?
But a freely given self can still excite
To give not merely take can be a sacred rite
After all the rushing blood has stilled
And each has taken what they willed
What remains between these souls
Trust or the sterility of empty roles