tactless

i marvel at the human dependency of a kiss.
the word kiss sends a tremble down my curve-laden spine,
like each letter of that wicked word were placed
in perfect alignment, like a panel of sweet-toothed stars,
to melt in my mouth. k-i-s-s. the word becomes
drawn out, reveled, tasted.
if there were ever a word for the sensory, it was Kiss.
the most animalistic of all the displays of affection,
a mesh curtain of lips, teeth awkwardly pressed to tongue-in-cheek formality.
tactless.
yet, endlessly, us bleeding romantic-types are dying for a snog.
making out, in essence, brings meaning to our solitary existence.
like catnip, your lips, lazy hands upon my hips.