The Life Span of Desire

Some desires are fluctuating, rising
and falling yet not necessarily ending.
The labyrinth where one is never lost.
I ask then, when? Perhaps, now.
The woman begins with passion, returning
just in time for the hot summer.
Or, like a car on a cable, continuous.
Never sanitized, only censored and curtailed.
Ever fonder, parting her legs without
Stripping off her the dress.
No apprehensions, no suspicions, only
Hospitality and cravings. Because, why not?
You only have to wait until the
Clock strikes midnight.
And the pañuelo is taken out of the chest. 
The man is less conspicuous in a bow tie.
Walking towards and walking back.
Until the sensation becomes too much,
For his temporal figure. He is
A immaculate, no less. Escaped Eden and wandered.
I mean, it is only then that fornication
Was discovered, the touching of bellies.
Perfect bodies, yearning for touches.
Of course, desire is sustained.
After the furnace dies, it sparks again.
Tormenting the bond that ties
Their loins. Much less, the separation
Fragments and refurbishes.
We could be more plain with
Our proposals. Clear the negotiation table
as we hold hands and hum in unison.
Anyway, the contract is non-binding,
It is only for formality's sake.
No stakes involved, unless you seriously bet.
The fact is desire, and its cousin love,
Always yearns, always hungers
Blindly but truthfully.