Tuesday, August 20, 2013

breathless strawberries (for lolette)

your lips now
will always be
the impassioned birth
that lies at the end of this
pause i call
fresh strawberries
nude, inviting 
with the gleam of arousal
plump with desire
awaiting the bite 
only a lover's kiss promises.
your lips
do not promise a respite 
from that cauldron made
by bodies coursing against each other
in fact
your kisses may burn best
without any oxygen
or reason to fuel.

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