When we’re kissing, don’t worry about your chapped lips.
Focus instead on the way my fingers feel in your hair
And the pounding of my heart against your chest,
Don’t think about stopping to apply chapstick because
My heart is filling my throat and begging to fly,
Threatening to spill into your breath,
And I have no time to wait.
Each tender crack is a line of poetry
That I can taste on your tongue,
And I’m getting high on your metaphors.