What is in a kiss?
Soft as it may be. Sweet and wine scented. There is no rush to deliberate on the greater reasoning. No. There is only the soft ripe apricot of lip, the tender flesh on the inner bite…
A kiss is something dangerous. Overlooked. Such rising tides smash at the shore of my reason under it’s subtlety. I am a fool for the warm ease at which it quickly, quietly, drowns me.
Remember your first? Your last? The one with the slow smile and the agenda hidden under her breastbone? I do. Yes… I do.
She had red hair and wore my perfume. Stole my dresses and filled my bed with her cold feet.
Dangerous kiss. Dangerous slippery slope she pushed me down.
And then this last kiss, tentative. Restrained. A fleeting but tantalizing prelude to the pink flesh that lay behind the girlish capriciousness. I am always a sucker for a secret.
What is in a kiss.
Nothing. Spit and teeth. A flick of tongue. There is no mystery there.
What is the secret it keeps?
Desire.
G.
3 comments:
There is only the soft ripe apricot of lip, the tender flesh on the inner bite…
I am a fool for the warm ease at which it quickly, quietly, drowns me.
Ardent. ^_^ My blood is stirred by the intensity of this beautifully crafted piece. Thank you.
p.s.
I've also relished reading "Pink Petals" (especially the line: "Do we envy the fearless in her smile?") Hope to read more of your poetry on my next visit. ^_^ Be well.
Thank you so much. It's wonderful to hear a new voice in amongst all my dusty secrets.
See you again.
G.
This contemplation is too electric to be called a "contemplation." It is itself like a kiss.
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