Lips fragranced with pomegranate and honey draw lips worn with crack and wrinkle from work, by the sweat of his brow, to themselves that they may be sampled. He has longed for the taste of something sweet. Her being desired is his meet.
Rivers of water flow from the well of her passion slowly...deliberately ripening the fruit which will soon find its inward part exposed and succulent. The veil of her mystery has been rent.
Compassion's sent is carried aloft coming to light on his essence. Drip by drop, honeysuckle exudes and is eagerly taken into the palate. A rush of tears washes all into the well of the soul. such is how it is under the aegis of the kiss.
