I like your kisses however I get them. Distracting. I forget the heart of the matter and cling to them like they’re all that is living.
Your kisses are hard and punishing. I want to be punished this way. Not always. Just that last time.
You weren’t as angry this last time. No less intoxicating. Different.
Anger hinted at a possible similar abyss. Shared desolation. Maybe you felt what I felt when I was away from you but I’m never sure.
Never know. You may have cured me of wanting to know. Curiosity didn’t simply kill the damn cat. Drove it crazy then it killed itself.
Mmmmm. So addicted to those kisses–want you connected in that very way–I would sell out almost everything. Almost.
Especially me. Renounced myself, my sanity, grace and joy to have them when you seemed to look at such magical things as our kisses with indifference.
I remember them. They sometimes rock me to sleep, those kisses.
And, yeah that time when you–when we…I’m so glad I had that. Rooting in the desert of something denied, I have that jewel filed away.
Feeling you feel me feeling you. Blessing.
And I know it was right and good because I still feel good. No regrets.
Wounds heal. Sun kisses. Always. Grateful.