To have our lips grow closer and then touch,

so we may feel each other.

(A prerequisite to tasting,

like fingers flirting with desserts.)

We're acquainted through faint, saintly strokes.


To then taste the wet world beyond the plush,

so it seems my mind is

leaking out of my world and seeping into yours,

just to be swallowed, leaving

my skull hollow.

And I know your mind does the same

when a lump floats down my throat.


To have your hands run across the goosebumps

blossoming on my neck, arms, and torso,

your callouses a bonus.

Your fingers kiss me just as your lips do,

filling my abyss with bliss.


To pull away a moment, making my mind eject

from your world and return to mine.

From there it finds the dome,

its home,

 so I'm again enslaved by brain waves.


To press our lips together again,

hungrier this time,

for we've tasted the wonders

of this dessert—sweeter than sunlight

after a storm,

or its sheen aftertaste on grass

and water.


To have our consciousnesses intertwine,

a hypnosis of a kind.

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