Holding you between my lips,
I would speak in tongues
And remain forever mute.
Although I need to taste you,
There is rapture in anticipation.
I delay the moment that you yield, then burst,
Your perfect, perfumed juices
Trickling slowly down my chin.

My mother puts chocolate milk in my lunch
She puts it in an empty juice bottle
But today I forgot my water container, so
I'm filling up my apple juice-chocolate milk-bottle.