The Kiss

“Lord! I wonder what fool it was that first invented kissing. “ Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) Irish author and clergyman

Consider the kiss. What an odd, intriguing, and absurd concept, this pressing of lobes, this mating of faces. Ah, the kiss. Obscene and brutal? Or magnificent, erotic? A tribute? An insult? Whatever the form, it does span mouths and hearts and time. There are too many kinds to count, this mirror of emotion, purveyor of desire: The Judas kiss, low as a snake and deadly as sin. The obligatory kiss to Aunt Jane, whose breath is stale with age and cigarettes smoked. The perfunctionary peck upon the cheek, a greeting here, perhaps sincere but perhaps not. A parent’s worried lips to the child’s fevered brow. And what of the kiss of comfort, the one that absorbs even a little of the grief while a loved one sleeps in a silk-lined box? Kisses sweet, brief, given without thought or considered at length. An apology even, when words are too hard to say. The lover’s kiss: prelude to passion each mortal strives to perfect with varying degrees of success. Mustn’t be too sloppy or too dry; the timing is crucial, too; when to begin as important as knowing the moment it is meant to be over. Is it tentative or hungry? Is it reciprocated, or rejected with the turn of the cheek, mauling the ego more deftly than any two-fisted blow? The cheek will not do, not when lips are destined to meet and seek a fit as intimate as hip to hip. A tracing of the lips with the tip of the tongue, dip, taste of the tender, fleshy lobes, around, under, and finally between. The tongue is taken into the dark, moist chamber. Textures there, be it raw silk or rough as the kitten’s tiny bumps coated with cream. Can you hear the accelerated breathing; maybe it is ragged, harsh, and a little raw? Breaths mingle, exchanging flavors, longing. Teeth close, claiming a tongue, a bite, just a tiny pressure, a groan, a sigh. Reverse the exploration. And then eyes peek open, affirming that this feeling is mutual and unfeigned. Now the deepening of it, the slanting of lips, the tongue thrusts, the increasing wetness and carnivorous nibbles as they devour each other.. It is delicious. Absolutely divine. His lips skim down to her chin, he sips and the delicate jut. Unwilling to relinquish and yet feeling the natural course playing to the end. Their eyes open and meet and no words are needed. If it is good, it is the best part of heaven; if not, they part knowing the kiss was fatal and this is good-bye. Consider the kiss. A concept worthy of thought, though one better pondered with nimble lips rather than words.