The brown and ivory were swiftly fanned
across my pillow, mixed with blue and pink,
in hair and skin as soft as liquid ink
beneath my touch, beneath my gentle hand
and rough and questing teeth and tongue that spanned
across the taste of milk with tea--I think--
a little sweet and not too hot to drink,
and sugar-dusted cookies, warm and bland.
It is too strong to stay unspoken long,
too secret and too personal to share,
and too innately felt to run away.
I keep the tastes and colors--is that wrong?--
awash along my teeth with fragile care
and running through my fingers while I pray.
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