desire tastes like fine wine and honey
mixed with thin flakes of gold
that drip from your parted lips
as mine trace the hollow of your throat

desire is my language
my fluency in lust brings me
to the sight of your glazed eyes
your fists clenching my silk sheets

cherry chapstick could never

it never could have compared: not when
your lips are ambrosia and nectar
let me worship you like you are
simply fit for the gods