I want your kisses.
The slow, soft,
meaningful ones. Forget
those firm-lipped things. I want to be able to catch your lower lip
between mine
and have it submit to my will;
to swoon, to comply, to give itself up
without resistance.
When I tug on it
gently
and release it,
it should spring back softly
like a done cake
under a baker’s probing finger. I want your tongue to softly question,
and for mine to answer.
You can get it to ask anything it wants:
who I am, how I got
the cracks in my soul…
If I love you.