will always be
the impassioned birth
that lies at the end of this
pause i call
waiting.
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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