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