From the master control room,
I see actors shifting faces;
jumping in and out of character
as easily as you and I
are true in all crowded places,
but, with close friends, we are liars.
Although some transparent gazes
are ad-libbed unannounced,
we are expert improvisers.
We won’t crack or break out
of our characters – these fakes;
charades we can’t live without.

When I’m hunting, I can’t get
a hand on my body language.
Want to chill you with each touch,
but keep building up the tension.
Couldn’t flirt to save my life,
but, oh, how I love the attention
that you give me when you wake up
or when you’re lying in bed,
waiting for the sleep to come.
Can’t avoid picturing you
touching yourself in my head.
I don’t doubt it’s what you do.

If strangers knew our private lives,
they would think of us as cheaters.
They would skip through the respect,
focus on the misdemeanors,
but we won’t jump into acts.
All these symbols will suffice,
which is why we avoid drinking
or hang out in dangerous times,
where I imagine you stripping
and the taste of your insides –
it’s written over my glare
and you react as if you like it.

Analyzing our best pros,
yours is sexiness and poise
while mine is naturalness.
It’s a play we do by choice,
for the love of art. We pretend
for the love of art – the love
we manipulate with fashion.
We tone down the desperation.
We’re ditching the melodrama –
tragedy is dull and dated.
For the love of art we innovate.
For the love of art we prevail.
I think the first two lines of the second stanza really halt the flow... whether that was your intention I'm not sure, but as a whole this is amazing.