Better a 69 to melt it

We should melt the ice with our tongues,
not with shy lips that barely blush in winter.
I propose a circle of mirrors,
two bodies sought in the inverted shadow,
where the mouth does not know whether it is a cup or a fountain,
and the breath becomes a two-current river.
Because ice does not break, it melts.
drop by drop, in the navel groove,
on the map of saliva that draws your back
while your breath is my breath in the echo of the thigh.
69 is not a number, it's a constellation:
2 stars orbit with no center,
that drink each other's gravity
until time is a still pendulum.
Remove the distance from me with the hip,
that my mouth decipher the language of your ingle,
may your tongue find the hidden alphabet
in the gap that divides the desire.
I don't want a kiss that breaks
but a wreck that lasts all night:
the salt of sweat mixing,
the groan as the only beacon in the warm darkness.
Let the ice evaporate,
that rises in spirals of gasp and saliva,
that there should not be a glass between us
but this vertigo of two who get rid of
in the garden of the wet slushy.
69 is the spiral of the snail,
the door that opens into the body,
where pleasure has no north or south,
just the double beat of two hearts
beating on the same shadow chest.
And when it breaks, there will be no ice:
there will be a moon puddle in the sheets,
and two mouths that still remember
the tropical taste of a winter that gave up.
ANDREA LOPEZ 🌹 ✍️