Awry, staid, quiet happiness
No intensity or fierce emotions
Just plain and easy gratifications
Underlying taste of sickly sweetness

But, oh, the gaping hole at the centre
Yearning to be filled with sensations
So much more than silent satisfaction
An earnest need to trigger the sensor

A longing, nay, much more – a craving
An announcement through the town crier
A penury of excitement as well as wild desires
For the whole nine yards, I am aching