Maybe its the way the sun,
Reflects off what drips off your tongue,
As melting drops of creamy white,
Just disappear within my site....
Only to appear once more,
But not the same spot as before,
As I watch the trails of crème recess,
And disappear below your dress....
Giving me the awesome thrill,
Of wondering what it will chill,
While listening for any sound,
You make as it is running down....
I grab your hands around a cone,
To catch each drip before you moan,
Then watching as it slowly fills,
But crouching right before it spills....
Then and only then I lick,
The places that it didnt stick,
Grabbing for another cone,
Enjoying what Ive always known.