Poetry slam: round one

I let the hunger approach without resistance. I let it peel back the paralyzed layers of me dying to escape, dying to run to the intoxicating simplicity of him. I let it pull me, yet gravity cannot win this match. The match against the mind and how eager it is. The tingle I possess thinking of what might be, What could be achieved if I did not force all of my senses to stand ridged in their own tracks, emotionally distressed as it knows what is right, and how it could all be.