To kiss- a gleeful incense
- It was a week after your birthday, and you paid a visit. It wasn’t your first, but it was the first I informed my mother about. I tell my mother everything, it would open the door of our first break up. But let’s not climax yet, I mean, we never climaxed, did we?
You looked prettier than normal, quite voluptuous in top and jeans.
“It makes me comfortable” you said. You would wrap me in a warm embrace, and pat my back while apologising for not letting me surprise you on your birthday.
“My friends are important to me, you’d say”. I would whisper in whiskers- it’s okay, and then begin to pour my heart on you, in prayers. Doesn’t everything (in Nigeria) begin with prayers? You’d say I was the first ever guy to pray for you, and watch a sparkling smile sprawl across my face.
A first of anything is always lovely, and trepidating. It is the pulsating build up, the sensations, the agitations, the palpitations and the calm. It was your pair of lips on mine rocking gently, soothing and lovely. Your hands on my hips, mine on your waist, meandering gently across your figure eight.
You would smile, bloom, then smirk “Not bad, for a first timer”.
We would try once more then, twice, and I would wish it’d linger longer; but our last kiss that day was a forerunner of what to come- a 13 minutes break-up note that led to 13 weeks of madness laced with insomnia , crankiness and a reminder that “breakfast was indeed a national cake”.
The memories are splattered across my palate and I still feel your lips on mine, drawing me nearer, drawing me closer, asking if I would have wanted more.
2. You said your titties were tiny, I said they were titillating, I loved how they jiggled, but more noticeably, I love watching your smile lasciviously when I tease you about them. I would later shower you with words and serve you breakfast of lyricals every morning. What happens when two poets gets lost in lust for each other because the male poet decided to send the female poet some aphrodisiac lines on her birthday? Well, they end up swaying in cupid’s direction.
You were smitten, and that caught me off guard, the way I was caught off guard, when you stood on the bed, tilted my neck and let your luscious lips meander across mine, slowly, gently then with speed till I paused, gasping for breath.
“Did you say you are a novice, because you don’t seem like one” You’d ask.
“I love reading, and anything can be learnt through reading,” I’d reply. “And that includes kissing”
You would reel in salacious smile, and whisper “come here” as you draw me near. I’d follow your lead, like a lamb led to slaughter, we’d open lots of lewd lids. You would teach me a lot of things, like how spooning doesn’t relate to spoon and meal isn’t the only thing you eat, and how you can eat out, be eaten out and why ladies take lots of watermelon. But at the end, I would jinx it, and my morals would win a dwindling battle, against the will of my flesh and blood.
A kiss is a gleeful incense and my lips still yearns for yours.
Interlude (i):
Your name, like your breath reeks of onion-ic scents flavoured with ginger. I mean, which lady in her prime visits a guy at a guest house for drinks and “career talk” only to spend the night exploring crevices and cavities while spelling cucumber like Megan Thee Stallion in a “deeper-life” skirt?
Interlude (ii)
You say anything said between a man and a woman after 01:00am should never be taken serious, but you risked it all for few moments of pleasure and travelled interstate during a lockdown- “I want to lock your heart down”, you said. Only if you knew my heart was always on the race, the way your heart raced when you raised your face and cupped mine on yours. I don’t know, if it was your scent or mine, but I discarded my perf after that night- an ambivalent of array best left buried.
3. You often say you could spend the night staring at my my gracious gaze and refulgent face; while glossing my cheeks with splatters of lips. You say kisses are more intimate than sex and my purity pact is your priority. But you lean on me, and lean me in when our faces collide and let your tongue nimble across my neck down to my nipples. What is bliss if not exploring your breast’ crest with my darting tongue as our nose collides , and heart burst in hearty laughter.
Is there another eden beyond watching our neck tilt, then arc, as we form an acute angle, and our tongues tangle in passionate war, battling madly for dominance?
Epilogue.
To kiss is to open up an avalanche of emotions and bare your soul to ecstasy. It is tasting, feeling and seeing every colour of rainbow in its pulchritude, while staring at its unreachable altitude. Either it was stolen, given, mistaken , or sunken, the beauty is never transient.
Postscript:
There are places where I want to etch memories of lovely kisses like the base of Eiffel’s towers, with the force by Niagara, across bottles of wine at Vienna , on the green pasture at switzerland, but like lips opening and locking, our dreams come and go, we can only bring to life, those we hold on to.
