It is a slow kiss.
We lie in bed, cuddling and not hiding that this is weird, but it’s ok because we’re high.
He rests on my lips like that, this is so much more than if we were moving. We are still. This is happening.
Micro explosions in my brain. This is what happens when you kiss the impossible, I think.
I always sit on the bus alone, unless it’s ridiculously full; no one will sit next to me. I’m a bit intimidating, a bit too pretty but not easily categorizable.
I thought I was this for him. But here he goes with a slow response, he surrenders his lips to my tongue and does nothing about it, he just feels. I’m doing the thinking tonight.
I turn my back to him, he pulls my leg up and pushes his body against mine. My body knows he is inside but my brain is still registering the kiss as it’s reverberating through my skin. I hear myself moan and I think it’s just my intoxicated blood crying its way out of my throat because I know tomorrow morning I’m gonna be washing his smell off with cheap coffee and a smile. And that’s ok.
