Absinthe and Cloves

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.

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