by proiti

When a mouth blossoms into a flower
Tight, blue petals hanging limp
Purple in the shade of the setting sun,
Lightly swaying to the touch of a dead orange breeze-
Kiss me with that mouth,
Feel my tongue lingerĀ 
Over the black mole on your chin;
What a peculiar distance from decency
we have crossed-
I have found lips on other parts of your body
Your mouth is just a flower,
But your hands and legs and hips are branches
Leaves are sprouting from the dips
In your shoulder-
This time, and all time, waits
Spring is a forgotten folktale-
There is only chemical summer;
It dries and drenches with frazzled dust.
From the plants that grow on you
I pluck nothing;
I only want to hold some shade in the valley of my palms.

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