I want to press my lips against yours,
So that I can taste the Absinthe you’ve been drinking,
And those cloves you love to smoke.
So pretentious, so cool, as you sip, and inhale;
I cling to every movement you make,
Wanting to be closer so that we can mix our spit,
Churning and exchanging flavours with our tongues,
Savoring the saltiness of lust.