A cigarette resting between her lips
seems to sway with such intents
as if to nestle deeper in
in search to touch the subtle skin
unto the tongue with such desire
that it might light us like a fire
a sweet tooth of more sinister birth
a treatful season with such a worth

and like a child, unto the door
I beg for sweets that I adore
and battle with that cigarette
for favor from whence it has set
my own lips may now find
it's own way to sway so inclined
and nestle myself there deeper still
upon your tongue a place to fill
my name to not roll as if a game
my touch to linger until it would tame
and ever ride upon your breath
to nestle closely upon your chest
a passion to continuously swell
until we sway again to fill
and meet like that lit cigarette
where one may sin yet not regret
and sway and pray for deeper still
our voices one with us until
no pleasures' left to be undone
that we may rest once more so sweet, upon your tongue.

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