Her mouth is the shape of what
I would imagine a hard fast
spicy hot rush of chili pepper
on my lips as the flush of blood
to the tips of my skin’s senses
an expensive kind of trampy
that tracks the curvature
of my inner perv a vicarious
observer of the scenes unfolding
she’s got the mirror of my nutty
dying to act wild she puts her
lips to my aching and relieves
with her geisha garish dominatrix
tricks of perception she’s roped off
the ends of my wants that tied up inside me
like constricted inhibitions she lashes out
the naughty in a pouty whip
a forceful gushing
rebellious sort of play
of soft and fragile
but bouncy and balanced
so gently between her legs
spread like a genderless surprise
if she was both man and woman
she’d be perfect
inviting to dream up
the ultimate wordless paradox
of form and emptiness