Black-spiced-***,
I lust after the bite,
Cherish the lip-tingle,
Saturate my whole mouth,
Until my cheeks, my gums sing,
Teeth feeling individual, so pleasant,
And my tongue pulses with pleasure,
Dancing as if a living thing - which it is.
Until lastly, the numbness settles,
A satisfying quivering of senses,
Intoxicating me fully, before swallowing,
Then the music beats through my buds,
A heavy lulling, taking me down,
Floating beneath waves of headiness,
Sleep encroaching, waiting,
Before dreams escape, teasing,
Drifting unhurried through eternity,
Swirling within deep desire,
Black-spiced-***.

©Paul Chafer 2014