I could drown in your kiss.
But maybe drown is the wrong word.
The word “drown” makes my lungs feel constricted.
It makes my skin feel pressured.
It kicks in my survival instincts.
I could live in your kiss.
It is like breathing, but better.
It is like I am floating aimlessly in space and your lips are my spacesuit,
sustaining my life for another orbit.
Your hands grab my hips and pull them closer to you.
I want to gasp but my mouth is preoccupied,
as you can tell.
I am lost in your body, in your tongue, in your hands.
I am never to be found.
This is what it feels like after one drowns.
A beautiful abyss.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
I could drown in your kiss.
But maybe drown is the wrong word.
The word “drown” makes my lungs feel constricted.
It makes my skin feel pressured.
It kicks in my survival instincts.
I could live in your kiss.
It is like breathing, but better.
It is like I am floating aimlessly in space and your lips are my spacesuit,
sustaining my life for another orbit.
Your hands grab my hips and pull them closer to you.
I want to gasp but my mouth is preoccupied,
as you can tell.
I am lost in your body, in your tongue, in your hands.
I am never to be found.
This is what it feels like after one drowns.
A beautiful abyss.
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