The craving I can’t resist begins in my thoughts.

It urges me naked into bed in the fading light

of this rain-soaked summer afternoon.

Fingers find their way to the center of my need, 

where I feel the cool gel touch.

Like a worn spring the small resistance yields

and accepts the first finger’s slick entrance.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

I struggle to control my breath as the second

enters, enters me, probes the hot center of me

and I close my eyes and open my thighs

to surrender to deep self-absorption,

the unique pleasure of self-penetration,

conflated to penetrator and penetrated,

indifferent to my surroundings.

Two fingers move in and out of me,

slowly, insistently, until all resistance fades

and the third finds me supple as fresh dough.

Thrusting fingers tease me and I ache for more.

I yearn to sink deeper into the ecstasy,

to stretch myself to the point of pain

to feel the satisfaction of fullness.