Favorite passage from Smoke, by Ellen Hopkins

This was so beautiful I had to post it. This comes from the book Smoke, by Ellen Hopkins. No author touches me like she does.

So why, when his lips brush up over my jaw,
soft and urgent as a hummingbird

wings, do I turn my face toward them,
open my mouth and meet their approach?

Gnawing need upwells inside me, releases
in this amazing kiss, melted butter hot

and rich. There are unspoken words here.
We kiss poems. Stories. We kiss books.

Volumes of things left unsaid, emotions
untapped. We kiss loneliness. Heartbreak.

Rejection, confusion, resentment, rage.
We kiss scribbling hope onto pages left

blank too long, and when they're filled,
we kiss joy. Elation. Longing. A spark

of desire fanning quickly toward flame...
And there we stop. Close the covers...