Quinceanera Gift

Warm cotton cloth, a cheap cashmere replacement
With the same soft touch.
The same mystical effect

That takes hold as a porcelain teacup,
Daintily filled with milky chocolate,
Liquid fire, is pressed against my decade worn, virgin lips.

But You are another substitute
For the bound, bare threads that hugged me tight and
The cocoa that scorched my raw throat.

You are my new security blanket. Quinceanera gift.
Your soft lips, a torture to my heart.
Reaching for a chocolate kiss.

You hold me close. So close, so close.
Your cotton-cashmere arms engulf me,
Your warmth pressed against my own.

So close to me, soft magic glow.
The same mystical touch,
The same liquid fire as before.