Kiss me!
I want you to
not on these lips –
smeared with lipstick
high on Marykay,
on that other
where it’s warm and pungent
yet distills salt-sweet nectar
and curly hair cover.
Let Male-pride call this an affront.
Savor me, murder my inhibition.
If you do it right;
it might be 69 next time.

Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords | 2020

*This poem contains erotic subject matter.

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