Do they
feel soft,
These
quivering moist pink lips
That
glisten in the dim light?
Are they
as hot as they seem,
Flame-like,
impatient,
But
pressed tight like a treasure chest
I ache
to open; but need no pirate’s map
To see
what lies inside,
Just the
courage to reach in and take it,
Hoping
the theft will go undetected
Or
better, accepted,
Making
me sway as if still lost at sea
Unable
to keep the tides from rising
And
drowning me in their salty scent.
I drink
nothing and still I feel drunk,
A
staggering mass of unintended consequences
Rocking
up and down and sideways
Until I
cease to know which was is which
Or which
way I intended to go in the first place,
Keeping
sane only by wishing for
That
which I can not have,
The
imponderable mysteries of life:
Do they
feel soft?
What if
I touch them?
Will
they even be enough?
Can I
stop once I start?
How many
times can I sink
Before I
finally drown,
In this
sea of potential bliss,
This
potent mix,
This
soft embrace?
Or have
I already drowned
And do
not know it?
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