i love it when you smile

and your eyes turn into little crescents

like an incarnation of the moon goddess

that they worship

and i think ever since i saw you

i started being a subliminal believer too.

 

drenched in honey,

the milky undertones of your scent

remind me of the parched woman i am

and so i drink

to my heart's content,

and then some more,

and a little more after that too,

so as to make it a muscle memory,

to feed my fixation,

of thoroughly consuming

everything that is you.

 

because squandering drops of you

feels like grave sin.

it's like wasting fresh colostrum

dripping down a mothers breast.

"liquid gold" they call it.

and that easily sounds like

another name for you.