Your lips,
Soft and pale… red and flat,
I lick to moisten them,
They taste like raw flesh,
Of course, they are raw flesh,
And they trace paths to more raw flesh,
Pale, freckled peaks and valleys,
Fragrant, tangy… Pheromonic folds,
Fuzzy and warm,
Fingertips tickle to smooth,
I flick to moisten, Then moan to you,
And whisper to your neck,
Soft and scented,
You open with love.