this may be really, really bad. well, someone needs to tell me.

Walked Brooklyn streets, chocolate on tongue-- seventy percent cocoa, slightly bitter coyly veiling the slip of sweetness-- behind my lips still molding your mouth, that I can hear swearing love of me last night in our maddening throngs, as the passion of Pacific tides crashed in and between us, as you sent me up, flying to the stars as I'd wished to since learning to plant my feet down. Finally flying I held you to me-- arching, dipping, sighing with pleasure-- I held onto the best part of life: all the dreams I'd thought to give up. (See what happens when you send me to Medieval class for the Courtly Love lesson without you...)