T H E FEELING O F

The bright sun beats our skin
Pumping, breathing- taking in
the feel, the taste: "what is divine?
I say it is when his lips are mine"

He slithers down like a snake
Poisonous, ravenous, (his beef steak)
how well he skillfully leaves a mark
The War of French lattes and sugars to start

But what of her; what can she do?
Stay there enjoying his pursuit?—,
Is it possible that she can too, give in?
To drink the pleasure of his very skin

Unfortunately their time soon goes by
She must part, and enjoy the little (white) lie
Between her mask she smiles ever so much
"Oh, how I dearly say I can never get enough!"

Author's Note: French latte is my code name for "french kiss" while sugars are "hickeys (sp?)".