Giftbox

Your mouth is a gift
box I'd like to fill with
words: poetic
libations poured
from (the cup of) my
self, poured til you brim
with them, til
they seep into your seams,
til they seep into your dreams,
til I leave your lace edges
dripping.

I'll rush to seal them in
before they gush out,
seal you with ribbon
before they spill
from the spout
of your rosy red lips,
of your come-to-bed lips,
sealed with a bow
on your kiss-me-now lips.