Our ebb and flow

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.