Your kisses are jazz,
Staccato, languishing.
You’re smoother than bourbon
on the rocks; you’re honeyed wine, but
you still leave me raw.
You’re dissonant; so wrong, you’re right,
And without warning, you’re done.
Make me wish there was more, but
you’ve finished,
and you’ve left on a minor third,
two beats too soon,
Precisely when you meant to.




