JESSE JUNE

Women are my alcohol, women are divine and pure.
Women are the singing siren, oozing sweet sounds, drawing me to my doom.
A woman is a storm, a war.
A woman is my guide,
A woman is my mother and father.
A woman is fine art, captivating me into a frozen state.
Skin smoother than butter, than coconut water.
A woman is birth, is life, is strength.
Women are vipers, venomous cobras that will strike the heart unexpectedly.
A woman is unending selflessness, cradling who she loves even if she is coughing sick with a thunderous headache.
Women are candy, rich chocolate.
Women are hot sex.
Women are wandering eyes, cluttered minds.
Women are wet cement, never forgetting if you leave a mark.
Women are cherry blossoms, vanilla ice cream, botanic gardens.
Temperance, leaking aphrodisiac.
Gold in my eyes, love on my tongue.
The epitome of euphoria, warm. Holding me like a belt.
Distracting me like the cats outside my window as I write this.
Invigorating me to improve so I can have more.
Submerged in deep juicy conversation.
Wiser than an old tree.
More scalding than a forger’s fire.