you don’t notice the
undulating waves forming
in between his lips,
tempting
inviting
protruding on your cheeks
like blossoming flowers
newly bloomed after winter,
but there is sorcery
in that mouth you adored so
well, the spells he chants are
bound to utter
make-believe stories,
fill your head with arid roses,
ice cold after said a thousand
times, culled from the cauldron
where spices of words are
plucked, presented as presents
in the form of lies