Lips, you are full
of portense and happening
full of potential
for thought and discourse and desire
lips perch on the verge always
of eroticism,
swollen from kissing
or sucking, but amaze me
as part of the every day,
those of you that are unflawed,
those that pout,
those that keep tabs on my
apathy.

Nothing on a woman’s body
is more perfect than you, lips.
Nothing is so sophisticated or human...
lips, you are the least similar things,
the least analogous body part,
to animals’, and the most.
My God, lips. How do we maintain eye
contact, how do we take our eyes
off of you? How do we possibly make
it through an entire conversation,
let alone an entire day,
with a new stranger, especially a
beautiful woman or even an average-looking woman
who has incredible lips (because
there are plenty of unbelievable lips
on believable faces; you know who you are)
without saying,
"Jesus, you have unbelievable lips!"

Your shapes and sizes baffle me:
Cupid’s bow, earthworm, thinline,
heart-shaped, innertube, inflated
and swollen to a teasing and
exaggerated extent, pouting or pretending
or understated or self-knowing.
Dizzying lips, you kill me in my tracks
You force me to re-evaluate everything,
you make my apathy seem ridiculous,
you make me feel mean, you stimulate
the production of testosterone instantaneously,
you provide a clue to how much there is
i don’t understand.
I don’t pretend to understand you, lips,
and I may therefore even fear you at times.

But you bring out the best in me,
you are very necessary.
Keep mesmerizing me, keep dizzying,
keep amazing and challenging me,
keep me on track.