NEPTUNE BURNS

fresas con crema

when there is soft honey dew on your breath i wonder when my head will stop swimming with thoughts of your lips slightly damp from the strawberries we had just bit into. your mouth haunts my dreams and i catch myself whispering your name under this lamplight just so you will nudge me onto my side and bring your calloused fingers under my chin - you look at me and say my name and i can only think of are your lips parting. there is a softness in how you whisper it, almost as if my name were sour cream, sugar, and strawberries left on the tips of your taste buds. your lips seem to want to fuse my name into its open cavern - create a pocket tasting of strawberry and smelling of sweetened sour cream. you say my name and there is no firework display or sudden electrical need, there is a comfort and a warmth. i don't need fireworks to know you make strawberries taste sweet in any season, all i need is to stay held in these moments where your breath ghosts kisses onto my neck and reminds me it is okay to love. it is all right to want strawberries in the dead winter of my heart.