Kissing Her
kissing Robin is a moonlit night; it's the smell of bonfire smoke in her short home-cut hair that fingers roam through, holding the back of her head as the kiss breaks for heavy breaths, shaking, forgetting such involuntary humanness. She's lost control again, a melancholy baritone on the travel-sized radio nearby. The crackles of the flames mix with the sounds of eager wet lips returning, reuniting with its other half still sticky sweet of a burnt marshmallow aphrodisiac. Her trembling hands, electrified from the way you're looking at her, as if she were the luminous celestial body hanging over your heads. Even in the scarce glowing light, the surrounding site shrouded in woodsy darkness, you see those familiar freckles like the high twinkling vastness, and you make a wish on each one you spot on her nose for nights to always feel like this.
kissing Nancy is thunder and lightning; it's the burning anticipation for the next to come, to feel the collision echo in your chest, bones, and teeth. Until you think it's over, then suddenly, a flash, she smiles, nose touching yours and you're struck down by her electrical charge she carries with such nonchalant. Every time her lips touch your skin, she leaves Lichtenberg figures. You chase it with lips parted and hitched breath as you take on her keranographic love. Slowly, that avidity returns as icy blues pierce through you, waiting for you to take the next move. It's not lighting in a bottle as you seek this uncontainable storm, knowing she travels where she so pleases. As startling as the vibrating waves of booming acoustic may be, this tempest's kiss is virtue like monsoon on a drought. Crash, you kiss her, taking the lead, and hold onto that force of nature, adoring it, breathing that petrichor before she strikes back.
kissing Barb is a sleepy morning; it's warm legs entangled underneath the cross and crown quilt, skin on skin as the nearby clock ticks beyond the hour you start your day. To wake you now would be tort, to reach across the pillow that her slumber-blushed cheeks are green with envy as you're tucked away into the downy instead of her chest like she had you last. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream, you open your heavy eyes to the midsummer sun shining through the dancing gossamer draping over the slightly opened geometric window. The quiet Temps Levé of lips bring you back to her, to adore you as she had the previous evening. Her pearlescent painted nails gently trace up, down, and over your hip, and you watch as she slowly blinks, smiling without those oversized squares, perfectly-coiffed and feathered flaming hair now ruffled and mussed. English rose and violet sheets, you smell the honeyed hay of her sweet linden blossom perfume as she leans in to kiss you good morning on eyelids, brow, and cheek. You kiss her chin and settle in closer, falling safely into her embrace and back asleep.
kissing Chrissy is a sunny afternoon; it's little butterfly wisps feathered against your cheek from those babydoll lashes on eyes swiped with sweet sheer azure, the color like the cloudy heavens above from where you lay on grass fluffed gingham. Dazed, the warm breeze hides her away in loose strawberry blonde that you push back behind her ear before kissing her once more, kissing her with giggles as your thumb strokes over the apples of her cheeks that blush like the homemade jell-o pie the two of you ate up with frivolous regale. Pretty in Pink. A lingering tart on your tongue, though her kiss so sweet, so smitten, it leaves your head buzzing like the bees floating in nearby clovers. Hum, buzz, hum, she smiles against your teeth with sweet singsong, absolutely peachy.