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To A Woman.
I have little doubt
Your peony pout
Is the reason I'd bring you flowers.
If you agree, (as it's appropriate to me)
I see my attraction's core on your mouth
Waxy; you'll bend.
Pliable. Flexible when warmth is applied.
Oily when you slick over and stick onto
Me. Underneath my fingernails,
You won't wash away.
I wouldn't put you in anything but red.
They crushed beetles once for lips like yours.
Lastly, and I'm only teasing--alcohol.
Won't you let me come over?
Won't you let your lipstick join the rings
Collecting between my legs?
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