Piquant
Just as, surely, sweat is consommé
or scallions scowled in a jelly-pan
or golden acid, wrathful in a stoppered jar
and other body fluids I shan't mention
are sulphur, globster, stinkhorn, horse or Brie,
then there are these late-on summer days
when, just where nostril meets the upper lip,
a film appears, part sweat, part oil
with a perfect, clean white chocolate smell,
two parts ginger to ninety eight parts milk
and which, when I lean in to take this kiss,
says fool for sugar, says mammals one and all,
says never again a love like this.
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