I can taste her skin on my lips.

It shines like a light

through a canopy of trees and leaves

breathless whispers on my lips.

I can feel her still,

etched like memories

on my fingertips,

poured into their padded whorls.

My prints, her hips.

That smile, those lips,

that part and pout

and mock my mouth.

Without a word

they whisper,

“Kiss her.”

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