Hothouse

​I like that sweet little hothouse mouth
you have. I like to kiss you with tongue, with gusto,
with socks still on. 
…
I’ll keep coming back. Maddened. A little hopeless.
Embarrassingly in love. And that’s why I’m on
the couch kissing pictures on my phone instead of
calling you in from the kitchen where you are
undoubtedly making dinner too spicy, but when
you hold the spoon to my lips and ask if it’s ready
I’ll say it is, always, but never, there is never enough.
 

• — Traci Brimhall