I am rubbing my nose a lot this morning
your smell is on my fingers
your soap and skin and inside
is the musky memory of being
wasted and basted in you,
realizing that all these years
my mouth has been a cup
waiting for the drip
of your tongue.
About the author: Joshua Sarkis Prowse is a teacher, writer, geek, music and sports enthusiast, and zealot for clear communication in all forms. This is where he rants about writing and editing. You can read other stuff at joshprowse.com. 
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