I remember
“come up for air”
being a genuine concern.
When people kissed (like, really kissed)
How did they breathe?
Did they just kissed ’til they ran
Out of air
Then separate, gasp, rejoin?

Now I know, you just use
your nose
and air slips through the gaps
as we gasp, entwined
You don’t have to stop.

Oh, but when we kiss
I forget about breathing
My lungs empty and are replaced
with my beating, swollen heart.

The gasps are breathless.
When our lips part, and yours
make their way down my throat

Air is meaningless
Useful only to keep me alive

so I can keep kissing you.

This entry was posted in love, personal, Poem, sex, writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Breathless

  1. Pingback: The Tree Of The Knowledge Of Good And Evil, Part I: Jenny | Hipster Intelligence Agency

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