as if- your larynx a labyrinth, each: express- p e r f o r m e d pitches and- i’m discovering with each “french”, i can’t- excuse who i am who i become once the dialect of your lips, catches my- speech. less. the exchanges, the oxygen- you take from me and i give to you and you give to me and i take from you and you take and i give, and i take and you give and give and g i v e. fuuuuuuuuu.. ck. there’s just something. there’s just something about the flavor of your speak when you speak, those lips somehow carry your character into visuals, intellectual, what i see, my hands has a mind of it’s own, to communicate with the outlines of skin, pull you close, tight, in and let a kiss speak for itself. what my lips mean, what the exchange a body needs. what lips can argue the lust of attraction with, what attraction becomes, without a single word. just a duel/duo of desire. a desire fueled by something as simple as.. lips. you’re use of it. it’s native tongue, a language i want to learn. it’s tastes, i want to earn. how out of them, you’re hopes, and dreams, your ambitions and philosophies. to make out with your you just by:
something as simple as: lips..