In one of my future failed relationships I hope to remember to count how many times we’ve kissed. Whoever it is, whenever it is and for however long it lasts I want to keep track of the number of times our lips touched and to the varying degrees.
- How often their tongue slid along mine.
- How many pecks on the cheek turned into pecks on the lips.
- The different ways their tongue pressed into mine.
- The number of times they pushed back,
- and the number of times they gave in.
I think it would be a nice thing to look back on and reminisce. Kisses mean so much in the moment but there aren’t a lot that are remembered, yet when they’re gone and you can’t get them back you miss them sorely.
Of course I’m talking about you again. When am I not?
You’re my never ending anthology. You make the words flow like a river out to the sea.
I’ve written about the times we kissed and the times our lips were busy doing other, less respectable actions. Now I’m writing about how I miss them and how I miss you. But above all else are your lips. I miss the way you kissed me back when I give my life against your mouth.
I hope you’re well. I hope someone is kissing those lips until it hurts the way you liked it.