Daily Archives: November 7, 2015

That Kiss….

The kiss. She was standing in front of him. Just a pace away. He looked at her hand, then his hand.

It was there so many times in his imagination. From the night in the hotel with her. But the moment wasn’t right. The mood wasn’t right. His friend was there, and her friend. Don’t start a fire, when there isn’t wood to burn.

Over the months, and months. He wondered about those lips. The great smiling lips of his dreams. Were they soft? Kissed gently? A little rough from a hard life. A woman who used her lips to express herself wonderfully.

This moment was what he thought about actually. It is the moment before the kiss. So ripe, so pure, so rich. Anything can happen. And you feel your heart pounding. You never felt the pulse in your lips before. But there it is, and they feel dry. Like a sheet of paper hungry for ink. They need moisture. But you can’t lick them enough.

They need moisture from another’s lips. And your palms are sweaty. And they shake. You don’t know where to focus. Those lips draw your eyes over and over. A thousand times in just a moment. Like the only star in the sky.

Thin red lines of longing. Forever in thought, and a moment shared.

And she is still standing there. It seems like forever has ellipsed. But time isn’t moving. But his hand is moving towards hers. Slowly and gently. The touch of skin warm, soft and with a touch of sweat. Does he feel a pulse racing in her fingers. He starts to lean. Her iris thins. The soft blue slipping away as the pupils widen. He is breathless for a moment.

He pauses. Looks at her face. A smile which could launch a thousand ships. Her eyes fixating on his face. The moment is too rich to be ignored. Breathe in the moment, don’t let it pass. He grasps her hand. And she responds. She leans closer to kiss his cheek.

The gruff lose hairs on his unshaven face against the soft firmness of her lips. He looks down as he pulls her close. How many hearts are there beating. A rhythm. A pulse. Speeding forwards. His hand is on her back. And she responds to his firm embrace.

He can feel the breath under her bosom. The place where she carries a passion for living. And it is lighting a passion in him. He kisses her forehead. She smiles, white teeth showing.

This is a moment he has so longed for, and it won’t last. Tomorrow is another day, and the next. Life isn’t a fairy tale. So maybe this kiss will be a short dream. A taste of ambrosia, and little else. The lighthouse in a storm.

Or maybe it is the shore. The harbor his lonely heart has been searching for in the night. Another moment of bliss may follow this moment. And another, and them a day or a year. Maybe a life. But this moment. Here with the heat between them. The sweat on their lips. This taste on the tongue will never be lived again. He feels like a teenage boy, kissing his first girl.

Her blonde hair, lose around her face. The smell of her breath. This is why people dance. This is why people love. And spend so much time staring at each other. Moments like this create everything in this world. And right now his world is falling apart.

Because those lips have been so far away. And now they are so close. He can almost taste them already. He rubs her back, thinking about the pleasure to come.

The earth has gravity. The moon has gravity. And everything is being attracted to everything else. By this gravity. When he looked into her deep blue eyes. Small oceans which felt like home. No one moved, but hands grasped tighter. Bodies got warmer. Heart beats faster.

And lips came together as lips are designed to do. A brief soft kiss. He looked into her sparkling eyes. Then a longer kiss, his lips firmly on hers. Then a pause. But his heart was still racing. His hands felt at home on her body. This moment couldn’t have been better. The moment couldn’t have been deeper. And he wanted to share every moment with her, forever.

She kissed his upper lip, and then his lower lip. Opening her mouth to feel his skin with her teeth. He was lost in a oxytocin induced haze, but he squeezed her lips with his. Opening his mouth to breath her in, to taste her breath.

As a child the idea of french kissing seemed odd to him. Tongues in and out of each other’s mouths. What was the appeal. But as he kissed her again, and again. He opened up to her charms. Her soft beauty was melting his heart. And his tongue was searching for hers.

This was the fire he couldn’t start months ago. The four of them in a hotel room after a night on the town. But here. It was just the two of them. It was a forest fire. Raging across his mind. Burning his life to the ground. He never wanted to let her go. To share the taste of her lips with another.

His hands running through her hair. Leaning back, but pulling closer. He looked down at her face. The beauty of a woman is remarkable. With a firm hand on his neck, she pulled him close.

Her lips found his again. And pulled them back into their embrace. She thrust her tongue into his mouth. Warm and soft. Like her firm breasts against his chest. His hand under her shirt.

Like an infant he was fixated on her lips. All he could think about was kissing them again, and again. He never wanted to stop. Every morning, bad breath and all, he wanted them. And every night, those firm hands in his hair. How could such an angel have fallen into this world. Fallen into his life.

This kiss was a hello and a good bye. His world would never be the same. And he hoped her wouldn’t be either.

(A Room to Write exercise) (REALLY!!!)