Want

To me, this is about wanting something so badly that the passion consumes you.

A cone

Filled over the top

Dripping down

The sides

The sweet stickiness

In the sweeter daylight

Licking the fingertips

Slurping down to

The wrists

She makes you taste it

Makes you crave it

Your life, your soul

Become nonexistent

As you examine

The flow of her windblown

Hair against her lips

Her creamy lips

And she delicately

Pushes the strands behind

No other thought

But a sample of that cone

Your eyes roll back

There is heat in your

Stomach, or lower

Filled with want

With need

Of that one sweet

Drip

On the tip of your tongue

The taste

You'll be licking off

Until the imagination

Dies.