Enero, 21

Bled in wonder, the wounds stung
open by a kiss, the lips
of a stranger on your lips,
the risk you run when fondling
with feeling, the cool flirting
of eyes across a dark room.
I know the rise that rises up
from deep inside, the tingle
of flooded hormone and blood
rushing through vein, the thunder
rolling across the landscape,
the wide open lands rolling
movies in your mind. I’ve seen
the tapes. But listen up. Lips,
even those of a stranger,
are just lips. Nothing useful
comes of this. You are simply
feeding the faceless neurons
when you face this. Sure she gots
red supple inviting skin,
inviting you to kiss it.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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