There was talk, a walk and a kiss. To say more would poke a finger in their bliss, to say nothing would be a disservice to persist. One stood above and one below, and as surely as rock tumbles from high to low, one set of lips fell into the valley bow (of the other’s soft reprieve). Such is the nature of a kiss.

Touching of flesh, a kiss perhaps can be, but as a grape squeezed not the vintage sieged. Warmth passed between two souls in the stillness of time, making memory between the ticks of chime. Essence slipped membranes seen not by eye nor mind to gleam but to intelligence gifted not schemed; and fingers moved as if on strings to a symphony heard in angels’ wings.

Eyes turned inward fain as hearts beat like drums on the plain. The firm ambassador of words not needed, greeted with touches light and heated. As if a summer day where care not heeded, the two danced and darted as feathers on the breeze or children round the trees. Giggles felt but not heard and trembles joined the plaintive bird. Arms contracted to devour, fearful of clock and time in hour.

From dry to wet and firm to soft were sighs witnessed as eyes were naught. Hair tingled in the touch and noses snuggled, as if enough. The curve of one fell into other and where one began the other shuttered. Breathing raced as two for medal, crossing over hands together, as brothers as one do on the day. And so a moment held back time and seemed forever in space divine till upon the magic came a finger.

Reading and Commentary: The Kiss

Categories: Story, Kyra, John Discovery

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