On the Tip of my Tongue

Pink, pointed, ballerina toed,
I pause, pirouetting
Ready to dip low.


I taste the line of your chin
seashell of your ear
plunge into your mouth
wet desire, here.
You are pinned,
held helpless
by the tip of my tongue.
Held by my rhythmn,
held by my hum
I dance you
with the tip of my tongue.