Everything sounds better in french
On this belief I can surely rely

They have the gorgeous Pomme Frittes
While we have the boring french fry

In France a crispy, fresh and warm baguette
At my house just a mediocre loaf of regret

There is quite nothing better than a glass of French Champagne
Our domestic impostor "Sparkling Wine" isn't winning that game

Naturally to seal this case I will end with the perfect French kiss
Because a plain peck or a smooch is so much easier to dismiss

Clearly I have a sophisticated foreign thirst to quench
Mon amour, because everything sounds better in French

What could compare to that first kiss?
To the expectation of bliss?
Testing the softness of her lips,
Awkwardly touching noses’ tips.
As her pink lips open a touch,
As you slow from pressing too much.
The first time that she tilts her head,
You touch her cheek with words unsaid.
The first time you slide down her chin,
And she lets your upper lip in.
The dream you had seen in her smile,
Is there for you to stay a while.
You taste her and smell her perfume,
With feeling too much to consume.
Sugar has never been so sweet,
As when your tongues finally meet.
You don’t need to open your eyes,
Each movement’s a perfect surprise.
Tongue and lips touch delicately,
With powerful intensity.
Love at first sight waited for this.
Nothing compares to your first kiss.

Wandering spring ants
by the edge of my lip-print,
solving queer riddles