The Thinking Of Kissing

I was reading 'Tropic Of Cancer.' Of this guy - Henry Miller's - life and begun thinking how I'd like a kiss and Liz tripped upon my mind. I'd kiss her... Yes, intoxicated or not. Oh and how her black hair now let down unlike when blonde and brown and up! But the teeth. Hmm, the teeth in her mouth and my need for straight lines. Straight teeth. I'm sure with my lips to hers in the moment of a kiss I'd not know any different. But it's the thought of sure enough knowing that at the withdraw she'd smile and even I too but I'd see her teeth and maybe realise my smile be pasted on fake.

And furthermore, for the mistake of making an intention false, though to her sight probably nice, I couldn't suffice to feel alright. Trying to survive my eyes would stray I'm confident. They'd betray the sincerity her lips deserve. Not necessarily towards others but certainly towards her flaws. And not 'cause but for as well, there are those that I'd kiss and not let mean a thing. But with hers I'd quick mislead. Indeed at the imagining of the ordeal I realise it possible I'm just a puddle of feeling. Seething with fear of falling in love again. Can you fear an other falling for yourself?

Legit or not, I have no clear contention. But near a kiss brings me -I'm positive- to being distressed. Either for it's consequence or influence and that is for both parties. Still it's a thought that has caught my contemplation lately and in it every occasion is a picture of her and I. And I, with Time have painted it perfectly. And lock-lipped we are kissing.