By Nikki
Date: 27 July 2000

Quitting

It's been 3,636 minutes
since my last cigarette.
And who knows how many 
minutes since my last kiss.
Without the cloud of 
smoke to blind me,
memory turns to times
of lips upon mine.
Senses come alive
missing the 
   touch
   taste
feelings stirred
by another's lips.
The subtle dance
first, gentle pressure
perhaps a peck 
here or there,
then simple sipping
don't miss that corner
that crevice..
more pressure, harder,
more demanding...
and bring in the tongues
   twisting 
 turning
burning against each other
running lustfully over
the almost straight
line of teeth
delving deep into that
moist hot cavern
drowning in a whirlwind
of fireworks and melted toffee...

Damn! I miss kissing,
and I could sure use a cigarette.

NL 7/26/00