Lisa Martinovic

The truth about her lips

She is all lips—nothing more 
All that matters are her lips 
no Cleopatra eyes, Barbie  nose no 
long dangly Buddha ears 
She is all lips pink and brimming
Every sense worth indulging 
coming to or 
tumbling from those lips lips lips

She is all lips full, fleshy
pulpy peaches halved 
fresh fallen from the tree—ripe
sugar-laden luscious lightly scented 
redolent of promise flashing
nature’s opulence

She is all lips no pits 
magenta centers rough 
bruised berries, tart as cherries
plump and primed her
reckless excess beckons him
daring him to come inside 
those lips lips lips

Her lips exist for pleasure 
nothing more
seeking sin and sensation
tactile tantilization
when she’s touching
tasting, teasing 
kissing here
licking there and
sucking up

the thrill it is 
just living in those lips lips lips

Talking is extraneous
food is superfluous
singing is melodious but
passion is the purpose of those lips 
without a conscience so that 
when she’s had her fill of him
she’ll lure another lover to her lips lips lips

but not—yet
first she’ll have his cream

He is all cream—nothing more
All that matters is his cream
Rich and languid 
warm as blood that pumps her veins
dense as sap that climbs her tree 
He is cream 
thick and heavy
heart-stopping
valve-clogging
unapologetic full-fat 
fresh-drawn 
from swollen udders cream cream cream

He is cream sweet as wild 
flower fields honey
bees humming  summer creeeeeeeeam
Creamy as the kitchen slab of 
butter he could be  
but he’s not he’s
all lush liquid yearning 
to be whipped 
stiff  when he descends upon her lips lips lips

He’s pouring slowly 
lingers silky on her softly throbbing flesh
He is wet, she is thirsty 
They are merging, undulating
rapidly tumescing in a
slow drizzle dripping 
down her trembling chin chin chin 
Milky trail trickles 
snaking  south 
soaking in the succulence of
sweat-slick  cleavage 
rippling over nipples sharp as glass

They’re a painting
Cezanne blending
muted shades of rouge et blanc 
poppy red bleached bone
undertones they mooooan 
her lips awash in cream cream cream
spilling flooding filling
every mile of those lips 
til his tidal wave a’surging
sends her epic Red Sea parting
falling open,  aching to receive  his—

cream enters flowing fluid drenching 
wrapping round her tongue
he is gliding 
slipping sliding down her throat 
arched neck pulling deep
he is swimming 
no, he’s drowning  in the
roiling riptide of her lips
ahhh! ahhh! ahhh! ahhhhhhh!

undertow
ebb and flow
her tsunami                 
sucks him down
swallows long and 
with a quick lick lick lick
of those lavish lips
she is sated he is gone
sacrificed 
on the altar 
of her legendary lips lips lips lips lips