Satan's Pish

 
I feel them like the evening's sweetness,  
there is a breeze coming from over by the fence,
and in thistle is a honeysuckle hidden,  
 
pull the stamen & taste the kiss;
the fleeting scent on my tongue;
that is the taste of our love....  

just a drop, too much would make you insane,
& that has to wait for me, now kiss me quick
so I can keep you from going over the edge.