Do not let him tell you that your mouth is made for kissing.
Your mouth is made for the articulate frenzy of revolution, for the
crisp shape of kindness, for lurching picket lines and your
solitary war cry in a law school classroom. It is made
for the brutal pucker of dreaming. Do not let him
cradle your jaw in his audacious hands and
tell you that your mouth is anything
less than the soft and violent
devastation of water, stirring.
The next sentence you begin with "I" -
don't you dare let it end in "love you."