Let me speak to you,
in tongues;
my tongue
rolling like hills
against yours

The initial poem
you write with your eyes
before lips crash waves
against rocks that i could swim in
for ages
and never get caught
in the rip tides

Chuckling elation
into your chest
while you thrust
those Irish hips of
yours; inwards

blooming flowers,
nectar seeping,
swallowed whole by
your buzz

and i cry out ecstasy
the longing of a low
hum and its true;

I crave you