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Click hereyour ass
is a sweet fleshy peach
dimple curved
red melting into golden
ripe in the lusting light.
you're summer, aren't you?
you're clinging shirts and air conditioner hum
the tangy sweetness of barbecue sauce
of chlorine
and grass in the nostrils.
Of clattering over old bridges
to buy beer and Mexican food.
We met at summer's big bang
and off we went
billions of years of tingly games
and skin
and dirty, dirty names
thrusting outward into the dark.
Breasts and cock and so much
upheaval and rupture
dying and birthing
and cracked earth faultlines
closing again.
If I kissed you now
with the frozen whistlewind
flacking the windowpane
I'd taste ripe blackberry juice
trickling down your chin
I'd lick it from your breasts
while you laughed.
I loved the poem, I felt the summer, the lust, the beginning and ending of the tryst.
The title of the poem however doesn't seem appropriate. Can you please explain your choice of title?