Her Lips

He's always said he loves her lips.
The naughty things he imagines her
doing with that mouth would make her blush,
if she knew.

He watches little curls slide up their sides,
curving them ever so slightly, shaping themselves
around the words she's speaking.
Her tongue appears,

moistening that full lower lip; pretty teeth
bite down in slow motion. They open slightly,
letting her tongue peek out again.
Then they flash

into a quick smile. Sunshine in the flesh.
He licks his own, watching hers pout
prettily over her attempt to hide that smile.
Rich color invades --

her natural color and the ruby red
that makes his blood boil.
Another heating smile creases the cheeks
beside the pair;

the little curves at their corners
deepen. She sips champagne. He watches
a drop cling desperately to the upper lip,
its widow's peak

of plump flesh in the middle. Her tongue
sneaks out to steal the drop; he licks
his own lips, as if to catch a taste of hers.
She catches him

watching her at last. She hides her smile,
teasing his desire, his urgent need to taste them,
to steal that smile, to swallow it, and keep it
only for himself.