down a philtrum

can’t put my nose on the smell

like a finger down a philtrum, to and fro on cupid’s bow…

an indent so deep, to prove where you’re silenced by a Mal’akh, angelus

and just like those scriptures you’re all but forgotten

as deep as that pathway I’m silenced

stopped long short of saying how beautiful you are

or, what a waste of a brain in a mind self-disdainful

or my touch on a soul I can’t fathom

or rest, when it ‘sides in a kind so unsettled

wunderkind, one that’s settled so often for less.

less I step on the mark, I let hands do the talking

working fingers, unstopping a philtrum and flow

down my throat, sweet elixir, submission

and let the staunch fragrance combine with the smoke.




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