Kissing you is so fresh that cliches can’t do it justice, 
but I don’t know how else to phrase it just yet,
I don’t think a language can do it any favours,
when no one’s mastered how to translate what is technically a private story told only in tongues.

I envy the grapes that stain your lips as the fruit of your efforts to appear brave slip off your tongue intoxicatingly,
in a way only I’m lucky enough to get tanked off of.
I’m a lightweight for your punch-drunk kisses because I’ve not yet had the opportunity to build up an intolerance, but if I’m honest, 
I hope I never become desensitized to the way your lips feel against mine.

I’m jealous of your landline and the way your well-rounded voice reverberates through it daily, carried overhead through blue wires that span the length of the country to reach my ears, 
and I relate to the way the receiver clicks after your sweet little goodbye, just like the way you make my life click into place.

100th post!

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.