The evening we first kissed flew my thoughts into the sky, though my body
stayed alert, saying yes and yes, and yes to you. We sat on the davenport,
kissing like weedy teenagers barely sated by smorgasbord. It was easy to fall for those smooth vermilion borders, the light brush
of soft whiskers against my chin, your warm golden scent. Still, you
repeat the story, how I said: I
think we should kiss. And we did for over an hour. Your flavor lingers like
rustic bread, crusty, yeasty, salty; notes sweet on the back of my tongue that
night and still. Now I know how much the granary of your love quenches my
thirst, feeding me in a way I never suspected I hungered.
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