Rumours.

Because,
I’m delicious.
The salt of me curls you
and your tongue, bittersweet.
And the way I refuse the abuse
it’s like fine burgundy wine,
it’ll spin you dizzy.

The hearsay should be toxic, right?
But all those lies spun like glistening
silk, who can resist the feel of it
on bare skin. Do you know where to begin?
How to make love to a storm? And is there
somewhere to keep the lightening
tight, white, frightening, and electric.
Where my eyes narrow to a point
and the greens mingle with something,
indistinguishable. It’s pure, plain English
but the shock will do that to a man.
It’s the lack of fear and a readiness, a plan.
Because, i’m delicious. And it pulls
like a magnet of umami and
wishes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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