Deep in the creek
where speckled light kisses the saline shore
and mud hole bubbles leave crab trails
I knock upon her door.

She opens with a whisper on her skin
licks my **** with her southern tongue
winds rise the dusts within
the mangrove falls quiet to her moaning song.

I doubt it could have been good
It smelled like fruit set on fire
With a crunch I don’t think was intended
And the conflicting taste had me unsure what I was eating

But love is a strong flavor
That makes burnt air smell like vanilla
Ashes taste like cinnamon
And make me say “I love it”