Your Very Lips

Your Very Lips, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Please ask me not the color of your hair
Nor the color of your moon-like shaped eyes
For it is the motion of your lips I stare.
Their dewy redness has me paralyzed.

Many sweet sounding notes are framed by them.
They move in union as does the river.
Their power over me I’ll not condemn
Knowing to be doomed forever after.

Do you not see what you’re doing to me
As your silken tongue slides across the dew.
My heart pounding like the waves of the sea.
O torrid thoughts of what I wish to do.

To have your full red lips ravaging mine
With their taste being of exotic wine!

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