your curl by waitin’ for rain

The rims of glasses, the sandy-colored ends of cigarettes, the pronged tip of a fork, the feathery hair on a child’s skull. They’ve parted in exclamations and explosions, in songs and screams, in laughter and lament. They turn up or down in the externalization of emotion, they seal together like the gates of Hades at every intermission of desire, disbelief of thought. Those lips have brushed against countless inanimate objects, staining them with life, breathing a whisper of color.

A breath, a sigh, a lick, a bite—stolen kisses are the sweetest.

~Angreek87