Two lips are foreign before a kiss; we speak as friends,
laughing together as lovers – and hoping to finally kiss
as the latter.

But it takes time climbing up that ladder; taking each slow
step, to lead up to your matter meeting my matter; making
it really matter.

The sting of cheeks, the first time you taste something
so sweet; a flower on my lips by the scent of perfect
dreams – I’d shut my eyes each time we'd kiss; it’s just
a natural response, and one I hope lasts us both so long.

I haven’t kiss someone for so long, that it’s a taste I long.