For love we will

let me be the dew that falls on your lips
so I can be the morning of your earth
to land these soft hands in between your hips
and remind you of tales found in this breath.

if on your tongue i am a long prayer
then on your skin i am the thick acne
that stings your song till it dies of fire
consuming our light, one bent back and knee

in these writings are silent and loud moans
heard with a dying soul of a memoir.
give me the head, I’ll dig into your bones
I’ll dig your behind down to Alcazar.

Let’s bake the cake that brings about cupcakes
we’ll bore more holes, until all of it aches.

Ruddapoet