Saturday, March 11, 2017

Cunning Linguist, Part II: Winning







The insuppressible urge to feel
your mouth
is what has me
lying awake.
Your mouth, because it is the vessel
through which
you feed me
raffle tickets
to your
mind--
the kaleidoscopic place
of your emotions;
anger mixed with hurt,
folded into a candied
sort of gentleness
and
a genuine sweetness
that begs
to
be
sucked ...
and savored.
And won.
I could just call it a kiss,
but that would dismiss
the quiet work
that I have done
to observe you
in your element.
And calling it a kiss would devalue
how
deeply
I am
smitten.
Your lips on mine;
it deserves
a proper name unlike another.
So while your
right
fist
is
high,
I'd like to look you
in your eyes
while I lean in ...
for a not a kiss,
but
for
my
prize.

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