It was akin to
her very first
kiss.
That unknown
sensation of what
two
parted lips tasted.
Pressed together
mouths slightly
apart.
An unnerving move
tilting heads discovering
lands
tastes never savoured.
****** territory
not a single
bourbon.
No intoxicating
malt to liquor her up
trails
of poison ivy.
Painful to those
wandering hands
tracing.
A woman's silhouette
finding ridges
curves
of a body.
Telling a thousand stories
scarred histories
marked.
The bark of natures trees
bearing wars of
times
passed through ages.
At the tap root
her deep enveloping
soul.
Foreboding hazel
green eyes
surrendering
a rose guarded quintessence.
Locked lips
red vines capture
her.
Tropical pitcher plant
carnivore consumption
you
better, run girl, run.

© Sia Jane