Our love is torn by miles, not by choice.
Soon, soon, my darling, I'll be coming home.
At night I play your body and your voice,
But soon the hands and cries will be your own.
I want to love you all the hours we've missed,
And do the things I've fantasized for you:
Kiss you all the places my mind's kissed,
And put you everywhere I've wanted to.
My only fear's desiring you so much
That dream will overwhelm reality;
Time, for both of us, must temper touch
So love can once again be slow and free.
My mind's already half insane with pleasure;
Soon, soon my body will consume its treasure

So Beautiful !!

Thanks

Your poem made me think of this one:

hose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost