She paused for a second. ”You’re a good kisser,” she said. ”Thank you,” I said, pausing, and then adding, “So are you.” But she wasn’t really, I thought. Either that, or this was the way making out was going to be for forever.
I stared at myself in the mirror back at the room, weighing the night heavily. It was a mistake. I was here with my family, who I had grown up with. To me, it was a bizarre switch to go from attempting to lift a girl onto a railing while kissing her, to watching a Spanish cartoon in the room with my dad and sister. But, I assumed that was what making out was. Everyone has a family they go home to after they make out.
“
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Oh, me.: The Feeling.
This made me so happy, gave me a tight feeling in my chest. You should go read the whole thing.
(via meaghano)
I read this whole post earlier. Quality.
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Feasting, Elizabeth W. Garber
poetry365:
I am so amazed to find myself kissing you
with such abandon,
filling myself with our kisses
astounding hunger for edges of lips and tongue.
Returning to feast again and again,
our bellies never overfilling from this banquet.
Returning in surprise,
in remembering,
in rediscovering,
such play of flavors of gliding lips
and forests of pressures and spaces.
The spaces between the branches
as delicious as finding the grove of lilies of the valley
blossoming just outside my door under the ancient oak.
“I’ve never held anyone this long,” you said,
the second time you entered my kitchen.
I am the feast this kitchen was blessed to prepare
waiting for you to enter open mouthed in awe
in the mystery we’ve been given,
our holy feast.
