Musings by The Poet Loriet
Sweet 33, Need a Kiss
It's been a long time
since my body's been sixteen,
two months since I've been kissed,
and my lips ache to feel that soft
breathless sensation,
the whisper of pink flesh
moist against my own,
the end of a tongue
dancing in circles
inside of my mouth.
If I close my eyes, I can
almost feel the sensation
sucking on my finger,
but it's not the same.
I admit it. I'm addicted to kisses.
I'm desperate to feel that sensation,
afraid I'll forget how to do it.
I think I'm going to grab the next stranger
I meet on the street and say, "Kiss me now!
I'm sweet 33 and I need your kiss!"
Pretty please.
Lori Beal
since my body's been sixteen,
two months since I've been kissed,
and my lips ache to feel that soft
breathless sensation,
the whisper of pink flesh
moist against my own,
the end of a tongue
dancing in circles
inside of my mouth.
If I close my eyes, I can
almost feel the sensation
sucking on my finger,
but it's not the same.
I admit it. I'm addicted to kisses.
I'm desperate to feel that sensation,
afraid I'll forget how to do it.
I think I'm going to grab the next stranger
I meet on the street and say, "Kiss me now!
I'm sweet 33 and I need your kiss!"
Pretty please.
Lori Beal
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Sweet 33, Need a Kiss
Sweet 33, Need a Kiss
