Crush Words

Palm warm 

On my throat 

He knows 

My secrets 

Feels them 

Quickened  

Pulse 

Pattern

Fast 

Then 

Faster

He knows 

The reasons

Behind 

Bottom lips

Bit

My nervous

Is 

Apparent

In shallow 

Breaths 

Best 

Guess

My lungs 

Are under 

The impression

That he 

Has placed rocks 

In my pockets

That urge 

Me down 

Below 

The surface 

Of my better

Judgments

Just then 

Whispers 

Wet

Appetites 

Tone light

He speaks

Close 

Low 

-May I

Go 

Down 

To the bottom 

Of your 

Glass 

And lap up 

Those last 

Sips 

Of liquid silk 

Spilt 

On account 

Of me-

He 

Is heavenly 

But no 

Angel 

Stands 

In front 

Of me

No 

Not quite 

But I like

The poetry 

Of his mouth 

On his tongue

Laying words

Against 

My waist 

No haste

So it’s slowly 

That I come

To my 

Senses 

My chances

Are slim

I cannot deny

His whims

He’s in 

That place 

Where breath 

Will graze 

With grace 

And quickly

Give away

The secrets 

I keep 

While he 

Stands across

The room 

Where I hope

He’ll notice 

Me