Kisses aren’t sweet. They’re described as if they’re a sugary dessert. Something with a whipped topping. A treat after a long day or the delicious cap to a full meal, but they aren’t anything like that.
A kiss, if you had to describe it with a food analogy, is more of a steak. Medium rare. The right amount of pink and the right amount of something else. It’s dripping and sizzling at the same time. It makes your mouth water in anticipation and when you finally delve in you don’t want to stop until there’s nothing left.
You’re like that. You aren’t sweet. When they made you they purposely left out the sugar and threw in some extra spice. It shows up in your smirk, in your hips and in the back of your eyes when they glint against the light.
You sear my skin when you lay your body against me. You leave marks and they burn deep. A cake is just bread with sweetener. You’re much more appetizing than that. I think about you all day and when it’s time to feast you can’t stop me. You make me hungry. I want to leave the impressions of my teeth on your shoulder. I want to hear the sounds the deepest part of your throat can muster.
Kisses aren’t sweet, at least yours aren’t. Your kisses are a tidal wave and I want to get swept away.