Lips

Your lips. I miss them.

Almost raspberry, and tweaked downwards by your almost vampiric canines, while the edges curled up in a smile.

This dopey contented grin I've come to love, where the edges of your lips almost curl up on themselves, like a cartoon cheshire cat.

But maybe it's the bleary, "You make me so happy, I don't want to leave this bed with you," look in your eyes that completes the smile.

I can't resist, so I lean down to capture them again, and your grin grows wider, snaking your lips under mine.

"I think this has to be one of the best ways to wake up."

My lips go into action.

I smile. I kiss. I touch. I explore. I love you.

But I can't say it, any other way than this,

lips on lips.

The lips that I didn't fully touch with my own shocked me. I'd not expected the sensation to be so -wet- as the corner of my mouth brushed yours and it brought me back to reality, brought me back to thinking. I wasn't supposed to be so attracted to you, you know? At least not after I'd just discovered how horrendously you frightened me. I never tried to kiss you again after that awkward moment, even when you stared into my eyes and there was only one possible thing you could have wanted. I opted to play dumb, over and over again. So eventually you ended it, because you felt that I didn't trust you. You're right. I didn't. Don't. And I still flinch every time I think that I -almost- fully kissed those lips that said so many things I should've hated, and instead just smiled mutely, and ate it all up. No longer out of anger with you, but with myself.

Yet now I've started to forgive the both of us. Lips of another have helped me. Lips that spoke words which deemed me beautiful, told me that I was a wonderful human being, and made me really believe that I was worth something again. These lips drive me wild, and send heat through my veins I'd been too afraid to let myself feel since I'd felt that way for you. I trace my finger along the edge of the pictures he sends me and wish that those lips were here, and were mine to kiss, to taste, and to trust.

Lips: big, soft, kissable

i love the face he makes when he's enjoying something.

i call it his rockstar face, because his lips curl back over his teeth, and the corners lift up, exposing his sharp canines.

it's impossible not to kiss that mouth.

i wish i had a picture of it.

His mouth is so very awkward.

When we kiss, his tongue moves like that of a lizard, extending it's tongue, attempting to catch prey or taste the air.

I'm in the back seat of a car.

I'm no longer interested.

I wish we had never parked.

Lips of silk on a face of stone. I love you.

She told me, later, online, that she had wanted to kiss me that night we said goodbye before leaving for college, but too many reasons not to swam through her head.

I told her it would have been my first, and she regretted it even more.

Now, years later, i'm looking at pictures of her, and I keep finding myself looking at her lips and thinking about that kiss that almost was.

I've still never been kissed.