1-800-Love
...be aroused by traces of my smile —
a peony's taste at the arch of your lips,
a canvas of incidents expressed
with the force of gravity at the power
of ambition and hope, in the finesses
of a fantasy, metamorphosed
with the art of a kiss… for the fault
of an overwhelming attraction, incited
by distance and accessed, discreetly,
with that luring call at 1-800-love
of the morning heat, subjugated