Memory of a Kiss

 

What is on my mind tonight, you ask?

I am thinking of how I miss the feel of skin against mine.  I am pondering my craving for a silky caress that is laced with salacious reverence.  I want to feel fingertips stroke my face from the curve of my cheekbone to the line of my jaw, while lips dance across mine.  I miss the heat of another body pressing closer to me, trapping me against a wall, a kitchen counter, a door jamb, preventing my retreat.

I miss being kissed in sweet slow-motion, long and purposeful.  A kiss that leaves me breathless, my eyelids fluttering as desire washes over me in salty waves and I go under. I miss long, graceful fingers threading into my hair and pulling me gently forward for the next wave.

The kiss is not just the introduction.  It is the refrain that the symphony returns to; playing it again and again as our bodies crash and weave.  The kiss is the melody that lingers in my mind the following day.  I miss the feeling of true passion being given and taken, desire and yearning, lust and love all colliding in one moment in time that will remain forever.  Long after the owner of those lips has gone.

A memory imprinted on the cells of my body, on my mind and heart.  The memory of his kiss.

 

 

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