I crave the taste of you.
Not so much the way you look
or the color of your emblazoned eyes.
But I crave the taste of your words,
the tongue of your gilded page.
It is as though the bird is loose
looking for a place to perch.
What you crave to taste is freedom.
Not so much the overwhelming rush
from the waterfalls that pull love
closer to the rocky shoals,
the whirlpool of bold desires.
Yet, once I have tasted you
and once you have tasted me,
will we have our fill of passion?
Will there be anything more to crave?
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