Like sungrown nectar, it ripples sweetness across the roof of my mouth. It is no longer a distant memory, but one that loops like the 90 passing suns in front of my film reel lashes. I see porch light stars and know the beauty in salt and sweat on skin under crescent moons. Letting it burrow into your marrow and giving yourself wholly to to another until our veins run with melted colors of vibrancy and zealous infernos.
Thoughts Of A Twenty Something Year Old 