How to kiss (addendum)
How does a kiss move across time and space? From the moment of connection to the next separated breath?
Think: how to kiss. Turn the lips into new fingers. Graze the connecting top lip by the other top lip. But do not be an “other” once joined. Find the pulse, heat, and wave of that lip and carry them into the insides of each lip (but not all the way to the teeth.) Include actual hands, making sure to run the palms down your kissing lover’s shoulders and into the curves of their heaving torso. Grasp as if sampling ripe fruit or newborn mammal, firmly enough not to drop, but no more than that. Engage the throat by letting textured chimes escape as pleasure enters. Moan. Like it’s your new education. Moan as an acknowledgment of two bodies (or three, or four). Moan into and out of the mouth, collar bone, and diaphragm of your lover. Dance from your belly, dropping and rolling nipples, dipping the neck and turning nose to meet nape. Remember your feelers: hands, lips, chest, waist. They’re sensors. Make them feel while assuring they’re felt. Gyrate a lot more than you ever did and irresponsibly.
A kiss is the one creature constantly building its own anatomy. A kiss is a minor god. A kiss strives for fairness in war. A kiss is a winner’s move in a losing game. A kiss demands songs be written to fill in her gaps. A kiss overstays her welcome. No one tells her to leave. A kiss too early is a sin, but she can’t be too late. Kisses opened up long-gone futures and straddled the last of forgiveness. You’re as good a kisser as the worst kiss you forgot. That’s not a bad deal.