I know how sweet you’ll taste
even before I taste you.
From the drip of your lips.
Like the sweat on a plum’s skin,
so ripe, I ache to
pluck you
from that high branch I can’t possibly reach.
I’m always seeking more than I deserve,
desperate to bite deep into the flesh of it,
letting your tender pulp drip down
into my wide open
mouth,
your essence spilling
out
over my lips and chin and onto my chest.
I know how sweet you’ll be
long before the tip of my tongue
reaches the pit,
your moist presence over all of me,
it is never enough.
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