I kissed you like a shipwreck- like one who insufflates the word. With my lips I traveled that entire continent., Pucker Up Buttercup, The composer has stepped into fire., The dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon- craved to -caved to- not a communication really but a channelling of our rumoured desires- hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves., Your lips a magic world Your sky all hung with jewels
A reblog here from a blogger I have previously posted a few times; This one of his is a favourite of mine. Here is the link to the original – Kiss Of A Thorny Rose by Robbrownaswood on Ramblings of a dire strait man
Kiss Of A Thorny Rose by Robbrownaswood
It was a gentle kiss. Not a moist suckfest or by any means sexually dynamic. It was soft and sweet and gentle as silver dust glinting in the amber autumn. Even though it sounds so trite and diabetically saccharine, it did indeed fill my heart with a song, possibly “Singing in the Rain” I can’t be sure looking back at it now.
Oh but what rapturous loveliness it was, decadent with the richness and fullness of sugared delights on a white China platter. I did partake more than I should have, indeed I absolutely gorged myself on these tasty treats, but as she was the most charming of faun, she let me have at it as long as I wanted. Really I could not control myself, at the start of that pressing motion, the pursed and pouty interlocking of delicate flesh, I was hooked on a feeling and I knew no other reality but this pure unadulterated swaying of the pink petals of kind youth.
There was some new warmth I had not felt before, an engrossing tingling sensation wrapping it’s pernicious claws around my little form. A fluttering organism with no gravity to bind him to the Earth, drifting yonder through a rosy-hued menagerie of twinkling hearts and enlivened libido.
This new sensation – a name I could not put to it – was deeply strange and in a way unnerving. It was a good feeling no doubt but it seemed ungrounded to me. I was one step out of reality and I wasn’t that joyed to come back. I had planted myself in a flowerbed on some faraway lawn, tended as it was by all the lovelorn fools coming before me. They would wave ola – they were all Latin lovers of course, more romantic I feel – and continue on with their mowing and Shining-like hedge clipping unaware of my descent into otherworldly trespasses. And I did feel as if I was crossing a line not meant for me, perhaps I had been too young, too impotent in my understanding of the most misunderstood emotion.
She was three years older than I and had a breadth of knowledge on this subject as could be gleaned from the sensuous maneuvers of her budding tulips, or perhaps hibiscus petals would be more flattering… In any case the unsure and ethereal sensation confused me outright and all I could really do was go with the motion and hope I didn’t screw anything up. As long as I did not bite or drool I supposed I would fine, though, that thought invariably made temptation to bite all the more stronger as is usually the case with our contemptible minds. I held on for a long while as she sweetly kissed and nibbled my little brown mounds. If only I could stay in that moment forever and linger in a amorous dream.