purple kisses to die for

Her lips, warm and soft,
purple, from some really good
red wine, find me,
and I am dispossessed of reason,
with folly as my only craft,
floundering under Her incantation,
willing slave,
the next link
in a long concatenation;

She consumes me,
day and night,
and if I were
a stronger man,
less deprived,
less depraved,
I might well take flight;

but I stay,
one more go of it,
one more try,
one more purple kiss,
before it is goodbye.



May 16, 2010, for the Wifey, to whom I am wed for all time.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.