My lips
Draw on yours
long and sluggish Sunday afternoons
with forgotten cups,
neglected food,
hunger.
White clouds
of packed sheets
on the pure endless sky of passion,
flowering roses on the chest,
inhalation of aroma,
a whiff of caressing fingers.
More hunger.
Wings of smiles,
beautiful and slowly curving
because of that contentment,
sitting quietly on the edge
at the end of the sight
and quietly whispering
for love.
Your lips,
warm pillow underneath me,
have a taste of coffee and chocolate.
But with something else.
Something even sweeter,
especially,
irresistible.
Taste,
who says "stay".
Stay with me.
Goodbye and Kisses ...