I don't like the way
You lick your envelopes.
You caress the glue
Like you're starved
And weary, 
Like all you wish to taste
Is something that will stick to you
The way no one else has.

You lick them
Along the edge,
Tongue right on the blade,
Terrible and wicked
And not even remotely sane.

Then,
When  the glue is dry
And the dust settled
You wince.
Lick the cut on your lip.
Smile.
And seal away you love,
Placid.