I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t dance with another man. But he didn’t ask me if I kissed one.
“I hate you,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her eye. “I don’t,” he said before slowly kissing her forehead and walking away.
I leaned over the coffin, my hot tears falling on her cold face, and told her that I loved her.
‘Then kiss me,’ she said.
This post submitted by Mark McAuliffe
The agreement between us was quite clear.
We may kiss anywhere except on the mouth.
So I should have kissed you.
This has only happened a billion times.
I have the tears of a snowman at the kiss of your sun, welcoming your fire with a scarf slipping askew.
When you go, I will be the space left behind, warmed but empty.
I’m not trying to sell you anything she said.
I listened, later kissed her, and in the end, bought.
I kissed her, she kissed back— she tasted of lust. Holding her tight, I began to notice how cold her body was.
She grew up on Disney movies, Jane Austen novels, and romantic comedies. She was disappointed, during her first kiss, to discover that the human tongue felt strangely like a giant slug in her mouth.