my lips graze the pulp of her fruit
and she seeps. we cling to the other
and such joy is new heat. our kisses weep.
and yes, we plumb deep.
i ***** at the throat of the nape of her neck,
and her hair speaks.
it drapes
and troubles my weak fist.
i grip her  lips with my lips
and insist. and yes...

we make love again.

as if " love again "
were the first love
that ever
happened.