freckled flowers

 
There was a beauty mark

on the edge of your lips

it would dance as you talked

A slight swing to those hips

that I wanted to trace with my tongue

You were made up of

heady desire

a lick of inducement

Conniving thorns wrapped up in your touch

let me pierce my skin with it

I could taste those drops of crimson

meddle fire with ice

I’d fight off heaven and hell

just to become

those flecks of mahogany

engraved in your skin