I dip my fingers in me
thinking of your face.
biting my lips,
figuring out your taste.

you seem like a
drop of sweat on my nape,
honey milk on my waist.

One summer
you shall flow
and the flowers
would glow waiting
for the rains.

Do not haze, neither haste.
the world inside me will tremble,
and so will my skin.

for some stones
now know
how a bud blossom
in the cold snow.

©ladywithpen