When a mouth blossoms into a flower
Tight, blue petals hanging limp
Purple in the shade of the setting sun,
Lightly swaying to the touch of a dead orange breeze-
Kiss me with that mouth,
Feel my tongue linger
Over the black mole on your chin;
What a peculiar distance from decency
we have crossed-
I have found lips on other parts of your body
Your mouth is just a flower,
But your hands and legs and hips are branches
Leaves are sprouting from the dips
In your shoulder-
This time, and all time, waits
Spring is a forgotten folktale-
There is only chemical summer;
It dries and drenches with frazzled dust.
From the plants that grow on you
I pluck nothing;
I only want to hold some shade in the valley of my palms.
Tight, blue petals hanging limp
Purple in the shade of the setting sun,
Lightly swaying to the touch of a dead orange breeze-
Kiss me with that mouth,
Feel my tongue linger
Over the black mole on your chin;
What a peculiar distance from decency
we have crossed-
I have found lips on other parts of your body
Your mouth is just a flower,
But your hands and legs and hips are branches
Leaves are sprouting from the dips
In your shoulder-
This time, and all time, waits
Spring is a forgotten folktale-
There is only chemical summer;
It dries and drenches with frazzled dust.
From the plants that grow on you
I pluck nothing;
I only want to hold some shade in the valley of my palms.
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