Who the fuck is my inspiration?

Here's another love poem.
If you're wondering about the title, it should be quite clear.
I've written hundreds of love poems (most of which are too shitty to share) but I don't think I've ever been in love.
I've -loved- someone. But I'm pretty sure there's a difference!
ANYWAY. Here is it. Expect lack of original ways to describe love/desire/whatever the fuck you want to call it.

I need you.
All I desire is to envelop you in my arms, and protect you from what lies ahead.
The past, present, futures is ours.
But, all we really need to linger on is the past, apparently.

Your resistance is so infuriating.
Why can't you just realize that we're destined for one another?
That I am yours, and you are mine.

Your hands. Those warm, gentle, loving hands cup my heart oh so delicately.
But, I know you feign gentleness.
Because with quick, rhythmic movements, you could crush it. Mangle it. Obliterate it.

I am aware that you know you hold all the power.
Does this please you? Satisfy you? Placate you?

At what point will you realize that your destiny is already written, already decreed?

See what I mean?
I SUCK AT LOVE POEMS. *Shoots self*