Paper faces and silicone smiles-
Where’d you get that mask, little girl?
Looks an awful lot like

me.

Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.

the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.