A Kiss is still a Kiss, As time goes by – Louis Amstrong
The first kiss does not occur with the mouth, but with the eyes – O.K. Bernhardt
Your naked shoulder makes my fingers itch. The swell of your breasts makes my eyelids flutter, and my heart race. Your moist lips make mine dry, make me thirsty to drink from you. I can resist all temptation but your tongue wetting first your lower lip then the top one alluringly. The tip of your tongue traveling the surface of your soft lips makes my needs implode, my anxiety explode, and my mind go crazy from wanting you.
Kisses are like tears, the only real ones are the ones you can't hold back – Author Unknown
I'm at once elated and disturbed at the intensity with which I want to kiss you. There is no bigger thrill than a temptation that can't be resisted, no harsher pain that resisting. Resistance is pointless, though, because I can't hold back, I can't reign myself in. I make my way towards you knowing that you'll let me kiss your lips, warm my tongue with yours, drink your breath in, light up the fuse that connects my lips to the rest of my body.
Soul meets soul on lovers' lips. Prometheus Unbound – Percy Bysshe Shelley
What's in your kiss that propels my mind spiraling into a fifth dimension of thoughtless joy, into a parallel universe of limitless passion? How can your kiss connect my soul to every cell of your body, making each and every single drop of blood in my veins pulse and thrive with the heat of you? What charm lives in your lips that takes me to these seconds of suspended consciousness where I find absolute oneness with you?
To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand. Divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment. The Passion – Jeanette Winterson
One hand rests at the nape of your neck, the other sits loosely on your hip. I make what is probably my last conscious effort to stay outwardly calm, even when the beat of my heart quickens at its own command and the thoughts in my head become tangled, because I want this charm to last, in spite of knowing and desiring and dying for all that comes after the spell of your kiss.
I want to prolong the moment that leads into the next, I want to keep the door locked and the storm at bay to the feel each beat of your heart on my lips, to feel that my being is already sliding inside you, even when the only material connection we share is that of our lips and our tongues, and my hands resting carefully, studiously inert, to anchor me to your body.
The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer. The Professor at the Breakfast-Table – Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Already my control slides, my barriers crumble. Already the needs of my body scream too loud for me to ignore. Already I quenched my thirst for your lips, and now my limbs, my mind and my soul beat to the sound of a very different drum.
Blood pumps in my ears, and my eyes come awake and alive and ravenous at the brownish skin of your shoulder, at the smooth valley between your breasts, at the soft hip that my hand is still embracing, at the hot nape of your neck.
I take my mouth from yours, grab your hand, and signal the direction of our room with my head. Every time I lose myself in your kiss I find myself in your soul.
'Twas not my lips you kissed
But my soul –
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