These are sister poems. One wonders what it would be like to kiss the girl next door; the other provides the resounding answer. I do my best to weave the same metaphor throughout both. 

Under my very thumbs, 
This philter hath rested 
(A top-shelf tonic), 
Without a single interest vested. 
 
How was I so blinded, 
To what was bottled inside, 
That ne’er didst I dream, 
Of the chemistry I might find. 
 
‘Las am I at fault, 
For wanting no sin, be it 
Passion or poison, 
Have I sour’d the spirit within? 
 
Or have I wake din time, 
To this magic elixir; 
So my heart might be whole, 
This cap I have twisted!

Its mouth kissing my lips,
Our necks arched to crow,
Clouded the truth to be swallowed,
Precise the angle from which it flows.

Atilt, the serum swells,
Equal parts fear and doubt,
O’er my palate it washes,
A summer’s stream lapping about.

Eyes pinched, I stop to see,
What for years coolly waited —
How my body will receive,
This forbidden fruit I have tasted.

Gently cupped, my hands grow clutched,
Around its curves so slender;
For like a child I thirst again,
A bitter pill of life’s sweet nectar!