Courtleigh

Maybe I'm not good for you
The taste of my lips
might be too sweet for you,
The hints of cigarette smoke
on you might be drawing me
in too close.

Far too eager to limit my desires,
Too close to trailing your smooth edges.
The words dancing on my tongue,
Beckoning you to come closer.

Kiss me and we'll converse in the physical,
Let me leave teeth mark poetry on your skin,
Calm your trembling lips with passion and heat.

You can clench my hand or scratch your desires on my back, whisper in my ear, let me know if you want to do it again.

But then again, we could smoke cigarettes and leave enough space between to breathe our own air.