• Your Lips

    by  • June 30, 2011 • * Safe for Work *, Lost Love, Waxing Poetic • 0 Comments

    Your perfect lips, the way they’d melt mine.
    Slowly opening my mouth,
    Gently persuading with just one touch.
    The way you’d tickle me so I’d be off my guard
    And then pounce, taking me by surprise…
    Taking my lips by surprise.
    You made me paralyzed.
    I was so weak.
    I couldn’t fight.
    Kissing my hair, so softly, I wasn’t sure if it had really happened.
    Your taste and your smell.
    Your crazy hair.
    My hand gets lost in it.
    The way you melted at my touch.
    Just one touch and you were lost.
    That moment of danger,
    When I knew you would kiss me
    And I wouldn’t be able to fight it.
    The way your eyes change colors.
    Racing you at the crossword puzzle.
    It makes you so serious.
    Wanting to know a word, but not wanting to ask me unless you’re ahead.
    Bargaining with you for words I can’t find.
    You teasing me when I couldn’t get an easy one.
    The way you write your words in Old English.
    Your passion for music.
    The way you make love to it.
    The way you used to play for me.
    And I made you nervous.
    The way you walk and how you’re secretly self-conscious about it.
    Your hands. The way they move when you’re talking.
    The way you held my hand.
    The way you held me.
    The jokes we shared.
    Little phrases that meant something only to us.
    The names you called me.
    Like Princess.
    Your voice when you sing.
    The way you smell books. Just like me.
    Your love for you family.
    And loyalty for your friends
    And for people that you respect.
    Your humor.
    The way you laugh when you see a baby.
    It’s the same way you laughed at me.
    I came to realize it means, ”you’re cute.”
    Do you still think of me?
    Not sad. Just wondering. Just remembering. The way it was.
    When you kissed my foot.
    Right in the middle of your passion…you reached up and kissed my foot.
    Like I was a queen.
    Brushing the hair out of my face.
    The way I could tell that you wanted to kiss me.
    The way you would get serious and stare at me.
    I’d tell you to stop.
    And you’d say, ”no.”
    Or shake your head silently.
    The way you droop when you’re sorry.
    Or fume when you’re angry.
    I wish we could be friends.
    Because you make me happy.
    And I know I make you happy.
    Until you kiss me.
    Then we get hurt.
    And have to start over again.
    Maybe we’ll be friends.

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