Why haven't I written a poem about kissing him yet?

Maybe because when his lips met mine they took my words with them
And maybe words can't describe his lips but his lips
Are made up of words I just can't make out
Because I just want to make out with them

His lips are music humming a melody,
A warm, vibrating rhythm
Lighting up my soul with fire
And I feel as though I'm glowing

His lips are not just words but a whole set
Of lyrics
Singing to my heart

We are the ink lines
Tangled together to spell out a word
That I just can't put my finger on
I'm sure it's somewhere on his lips