I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat;
kiss you strong, kiss you spiced
kiss you tender.
I want to mark you.
To leave lipstick, sweet as honeysuckle,
somewhere in the vacant expression of your heart.
I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat.
To mold to your lips.
To melt on your tongue.
To flutter in your stomach
like butterflies darting free of the net.
I want you to kiss me like it's your last breath
and you want it to mean something.
I want you to kiss me with all the passion
of a redfaced baby crying.
With the furious beat of a lovemade bed.
The childish delight of laughter—
the kind that makes your stomach hurt.
I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat.
To relish you. To take you in.
To dine on each flaw like
I'm falling in love.