Oh love, it's in the sweet
ache to be in your mouth I
find reason for it. Knowing
how picky you are, your penchant
for shallowness. I must be
who I always wanted.
So you see, it's your fine
taste that drew me.
Both: that I am and
you are. Not the meager
loaf of bread, which
sustains. No, it's
a woman on a high shelf,
a vintage you believe
casts all others into doubt.
My delicate palate, chose
me. I am yours to drink.
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