Drink Up, Love

The flavor of my tongue grows old and bitter, vile.
Choking on the realization of hopelessness shoved down my throat.
Your fingers forcing it deeper, gently, knowing I trust you; drink up love.
Drink the sweet wine of lies, brewed specially for this innocent question.

My lips beg the question, forming it as delicately as possible.
Asked many a time, always to gain an elaborate lie in return.
A thin layer to coat the lips, to lick when the mind creates doubt.
Tasting of the breath you used to hold for me, sweet.

The feeling of nervousness in my stomach swells, obvious.
Desperate to be noticed, reassured, placed where it should be.
Your art perfected; a peck on the cheek to keep me weak.
Keep me begging you for just one more, one light brushing on my skin.

My lips beg the question, putting it as plainly as possible.
Asked many a time, knowing the answer, begging to change it.
A thin layer to coat the lips, to lick when the smirk plays on yours.
Tasting of the lips you used to hold for me, sweet.

The color of those eyes you love so much changed to the deepest black, pained.
Deepened, mixed with the color of the wine you pour down my throat.
Your gorgeous lips frowning, your soft brow furrowing.
Cradling my worn hands, touching your lips to them, assurance.

My lips beg the question, painting it upon your rough cheek.
Asked many a time, knowing the answer, just want to hear you say it.
A thin layer to coat the lips, to lick from the bottom of the glass.
Tasting of the words I made for you, sweet.

One last sip of the wine you adore, savoring.
The stream from your lips divine, tempting.
Licking it, sucking it from my fingers in your mouth.
Drink up, love...