Treasure Island

Airda Jones

(Sept.17,1988 / US)

A Mouth's Bitter Cry


My breath envies its distance
As it wants to mingle with
The misty warmth that tempts it
Coming from the sinful rift

Blissful breeze that chills
Shivers into my spine
Makes my skin ache sore
And my lips like sour wine

Taste, oh just a taste
To satisfy my cramps of want
To give breath it’s due
For my lusting lips to flaunt

I will beg, if you will
Let my breath cross the barrier
For one savory experience that
Will make even my breath falter

This mouth has rusted
In need, precious taste to dry
Unworthy lips that wet at thought
And salivation that becomes a cry.

Submitted: Monday, September 29, 2008
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