A Kiss Is Not Just A Kiss

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!

The rain kept me up most of the night but knowing it's Friday makes it bittersweet. I am ready to listen to any of your thoughts about kissing. When it comes to the palate, mine is always in search of a great kisser. Kissing a man is like an intro to his history, his sensuality, to his soul. What makes a great kisser?

Kissing is a form of art, you must put your all into it. It is the most intimate form of communication and is understood in many languages and cultures. As long as you're teachable you can always take a crash course.

KISSING YOU

This place is no longer a place

It is a landscape of kisses

Kissing you is like tasting sunset

Caressing my loins with your fire

Kissing you is like tasting your radiance

and this tongue never tires

SHORT STORY: So I'm on my way home after work today, I step off the train and a June muggy drizzled rain welcomes me. I was baptized from my braids down to my dress. My eyes wandered the busy streets of pedestrians and cars for a Dollar cab. I much prefer to hop on a cab rather than deal with the mob of rush-hour passengers in the bus. You can't beat the price. For a buck, a Dollar cab drops me right on my block. I was standing there on the side-walk when I noticed in the corner of my eye a tall, dark gentleman. He wasn't too tall, maybe about five feet eleven inches. I took a quick glance, long enough to notice his broad shoulders and neat shoulder-lenght dreads. He had chocolate smooth features as if he had been carved by a sculptor. When a cab stopped at the curb, I jumped in the back, an old woman was already seated there. Suddenly, the guy I was checking out also sat himself next to me. I was squished between him and the old woman. I didn't mind at all. There was no sign of thunder outside but I felt lightning struck inside my belly and butterflies were fluttering. The cab drove off with madness like a fire truck. The driver was playing some slow reggae music, taking me to a world of coconut palm trees and white sand beaches. The velvet voice of a Jamaican was swooning a recital of desire in my ears. I closed my eyes. His scent was heavenly, a blend of amber and Egyptian musk. Odors like the slight hint of muskiness from a real man can turn me on. The sickness of arousal ran through my body as I sat still, wondering what I should do to get this guy's attention. I wasn't going to allow this opportunity to go to waste. I decided I will give him my business card and tell him in a cool and collected voice that I'm a writer. When the car stopped on my block, he got off to let me out and quickly I handed him my card. I blurted out, "I'm a writer, check out my work anytime." He took it with a nod and a smile. I walked fast without looking back at him. Oh my God! What the hell was I thinking? Will he call? Was I too bold?