I remember you,
six foot something sunset,
who ran away from the circus.
Waiting in a Chinatown alley,
to entice me to the dark, with candy clouds.
Your name melted on my tongue,
sensual, sugary syllables,
dancing down my throat,
and back out.
I spelled it out in sighs, drinking in the sights.
My heart,
in your eyes,
claimed and captured.
My hands, branded and glued,
to the saccharine sensation of belonging to you.
I could see the moon,
the stars drew near,
but you banished the night,
until the sky was nothing more,
than pretty lights for me to spy.
I forgot how to breathe,
pressing my lips to yours,
stealing your air,
and tasting your intentions,
sweeter and more addictive than your name.
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