like poetry she's giving me bad habits

*whenever she eats
her fingers would scoop a morsel or two
and pierce my hungry lips

it makes me wait keen like ***
when the night is nine o'clock
it makes me slave of Pavlov's reflex
for her hands in my liplock

i crave not much for one morsel
yearn more for her hand
it makes me feel lovingly well
to see her closely stand

one morsel or at most two
when she pushes in my mouth
that says to me her love is true
she loves me out and out.