Death of love

you hugged me close to channel the heat muster up your feat giddy up the need of sex, release and very much a treat why should i feel so falsely exposed? sometimes it takes minutes to let that instill, creep in the fear of losing, the pride falling the question that's meddling thoughts unsettling, you going me leaving; so why i keep on throwing wits? isn't sex a love worth treading? would you be hurt? would i be hurt? would the sensitivity of things make sense at all, to say the very least? would there be only nipples and cocks cums and cunts; kisses and humps; cliches and fun; do it and done; and what've i become? would the sensitivity of things make sense at all, to say the very least? isn't sex a love worth traversing? i hugged you close to answer a longing expression to see you delicately eye to eye, lip to lip side to hips and you beautifully bailed on my silent adoration (that had stemmed for years and years!) and all there was to it is adulteration isn't sex a love worth trying?