Our lips collide, necessary and sure.
Two planets careening,
as violently as clouds passing by.
She takes my bottom lip between her teeth
and I let her feast.
She is ravenous and only I can satiate her.
Her hips and butt beg for guidance;
so I oblige, and master her geography
with my palms and fingers.
Our tongues frolic freely,
and soon I sample
the mandarin residue on her neck.
I close my eyes and let the taste linger in my mouth
as her hands become unruly on my chest.
She tastes like 3 a.m. on a rainy Friday night in the city.