It’s not really about the act itself –
There’s much more to it
Than pressing your lips to
Someone’s mouth
And calling it ‘perfect’.

It’s about the way their hands fumble
To grab your face and your neck
And your hair
And just hold on.

It’s about the way
You search their eyes before you do kiss them –
Hauntingly
Desperately
With understanding.

It’s about the single
Little breath
They take
Right before your noses bump
And your mind screams
In an effort to tell you that
‘Yeah
This is good.
More of this.’

It’s about the little laugh –
The single smile –
Right when you both let go
And their hands are still
Caught on your face
(Your hands are lost
Somewhere on their waist)
And for a second
Nothing else matters in the world
But that feeling.

That’s perfection.

Advertisements