There is a way that you pucker up your lips when you are being naughty, it makes my head spin and the only thing that stops me is your warm lips on mine. The taste on your lips is sweetest right after you shower, because then they are fresh, wet and pink-ish just how I love them. I get lost in your eyes every time I look at you. The feeling makes me feel like you are seeing right through my soul. Feels vulnerable. My only way out is to kiss you because only then, can I see your soul too: with my eyes closed. Sorry love the world can’t be fair. What is the fun in that anyway?
When I get angry and fired up, you pop out of nowhere and touch my face. Your fingers run through my cheeks and they land on my lips. Pause. I can’t help pulling you closer and feeling your breath on my face just triggers a power surge. The anger turns to love and I kiss you hard till my lips hurt. My jaws ache at times from the effort. You probably don’t notice it because it is the kind of kiss that is rough yet tender. Succulent and lingering. I do it just enough not to taste yesterday’s supper. Forgive me am partly French. I go deep but not too deep. Just enough to touch your soul: with my lips.
Your lips, my favourite meal. I can’t save myself when you bite my lower lip while I kiss you. Makes me weak at the joints. You bite and suck as you get handsy and all am left to do is wonder whether to tell you to stop or not. Your lips are the reason I would love you even if I was to never see you naked. I can’t promise not to grab your ass when I suck on it. I would be on that straight diet without a worry. Kiss me till it hurts love. Always.
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