My Lasting Minutes

Your lips press against mine, like pomegranate’s sweet wine,
I taste the fruit of your desire,  
We crave, we burn, with unquenchable fire.
Your shyness falls like leaves in a breeze,  
Our branches weave together where our love finds its ease.

I bring you grapes, fragrant, freshly cut,  
Our hearts beat like vines, with each rich, swelling glut.  
Our fruits are ripe, bursting with need,  
Like tendrils we twist, our hunger to feed.

Our bodies are vines, knotted and tight,  
Each touch is the rain, fueling our delight.
Our love is a wild tree, with roots deep in the ground,  
In the night’s embrace, our desires are unbound.

Your soul opens wide like ripe figs splitting apart,  
In the sweetness of your ecstasy, I lose my heart.
Like grapes pressed firm, I savor your delight,  
Every drop of your being, my relentless plight.

Your innocence a blossom, tender and light,  
Yet within the petals, you’re warm and bright.  
Your morning smile, the fruit of dawn’s first light,  
And between dusk and dark, our love burns bright.

We devour each other like fruits from the vine,  
Each kiss a sip of the vineyard’s wine.  
With every sip, every taste, our passion swells,  
In this garden of desire, our fruits become shells.