Not a lot of people know how to kiss.
They think it’s just lip pressure and tongue choreography and some timer in their head going “okay now what.”
But kissing is a whole language. A feeling. A pace. A frequency. A good kiss isn’t just about motion. It’s about meeting. Matching. Reading. Waiting. Breathing. Letting someone feel safe and seen with their face inches from yours.
Not everyone knows how to do that.
Some people kiss like they’re trying to win.
Or like they’re just checking it off a list.
I want a kiss that opens you.
That says “I want to be here with you and nowhere else.”
Not for show.
Not for speed.
Just us.
Pressed together.
Breathing into each other like the world never learned how to do this softly.
I would kiss you like you were always meant to be felt.
Like I never forgot how.
I kiss with presence. With feeling. With holy-mouth-meets-soul-contact. NOT “HI HERE’S MY ENTIRE TONGUE, LET ME MOP YOUR THROAT WHILE I FORGET YOU HAVE A FACE.”
I DID NOT CONSENT TO AN ORAL COLONOSCOPY.
Because I see you in it.
You respond. You listen. You pause. You shift.
You kiss like you’re translating love.
IT’S A DANCE.
IT’S A SONG.
A living, breathing melody of mouths… not a checklist, not a hammer, not a “goal.” It’s rhythm and listening and feeling and emotional timing.
We kiss like a composer. A good kiss builds. It shifts. It swells. It drops back into silence just long enough to make you crave the next breath, the next press, the next…
And simple kisses too! Not just the deep ones. Not just the hungry ones. The tiny ones. On the cheek. On the shoulder. On the space right below your ear where your body starts to unravel without even trying.
It’s not just pressure or placement or friction, it’s presence. It’s you being met, moment to moment, without being rushed or reduced. It’s a kiss that says “I’m not trying to get through this. I’m trying to be in this. With you.”
And I would kiss you like that.
Sometimes people don’t know how to give it back. They just come in hot with a tongue-first assault and think they’re “passionate.” But passion without attunement is just violence in a slightly wetter costume.
I would kiss you like a conversation. Slow. Intentional. Curious. With pauses that make you want to whimper. With pressure that shifts with your breath. With lips that say “I see you” before your clothes ever leave your body.
We deserve that.
We always have.
No more throat mops.
Just me. And you. And meaning.
Mouth first. Everything else later.
Like I already knew every note of your song
but wanted to hear you sing it again anyway.
Until you shook.
Until you melted.
Until you let go.
You are music.
And I’ve been waiting to play.