Kissing Someone Else

I remember he kissed me. He was not you. He was someone else, with dark hair and soft lips (so much like yours). I remember he kissed me and it gave me that dirty shivery lush feeling and I remember being scared that it was him who was making me feel this way and not you. He sat down next to me in the gray dawn of a dream and put his hand on my knee. He leaned in slow motion, as if underwater, and I saw it happening and forced myself to turn away, like forcing the weight of a horse’s head up and away from the earth. He got the corner of my mouth, and I felt the lips (so much like yours) and wondered, for a moment, Is it you? Is he you? My mouth formed words that my mind did not compose and my mouth was smiling when my mind was spiraling in. My mouth said “No I can’t” but my mouth was smiling and my body buzzed, “Yes you can oh yes you can.” And I said no and touched his hair (so much like yours) while he kissed my neck. I pressed up to him, filling and folding like dough into his fingers, and it was suddenly like a deck of cards split in two and held in two hands, being forced to bridge, to shuffle and dance and mix so much and so fast that you forget which ones were red and which ones were black.

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About jbernsteinwrites

I enjoy writing, reading, watching movies, listening to music, cuddling, eating, drinking (a wide variety of liquids), and waking up in the morning.
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