Love

It’s a word twisted.
Pressed to the lips, left only to fade.
Breathe it in while it lasts-
And let it die between your fingers.
Just never quite tangible.
It’s a glance into the past
And a face turned always away.
It’s a burning inside
Almost to good to hurt.
It’s a jaw line.
It’s the curvature of a cheek.
Press it to your lips.
And let the taste die there.