Those Lips

by

Roughly an inch
below your nostrils,
contoured in mauve;
those lips
drive my thoughts
into mob.

Loudly calling me at sunrise;
but louder in bedtime,
I am at the mercy
of those lips
all the time.

Mallows that melt me;
Bergamot that intoxicates
my wired mind—-
I don’t care what time.

Screw me, Earth.
Screw me.
Screw.

YouTube/Trijntje Oosterhuis/The Carpenters/They Long To Be Close To You

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