Note: This post is intended for mature readers regardless of age.

I kiss your tongue.

It’s wild and tropical, like pineapple so tart and sweet. It’s juicy and I drink of your essence, knowing that this will be among the last kisses I ever give to you.

My flavor is dark and spicy, heavy with things like coffee and nuts and chocolate. We make our own nectar in this moment; a sticky, memory-binding kind of paste. It’ll prove a lasting topping to the experiences that have led up to this moment. It’ll encase things like stars and crosses, electricity and fire, food and love.

Young love.

The kind that will never be forgotten.
The kind that forgives easily.
The kind that explores with a dynamic zest.


It’s the kind of love we all wish to go back to, but after you’ve had it, after you’ve made such a nectar, there’s nothing quite like it.

There’s a freedom in its zest.
A freedom that becomes timid, tired even, after heartbreak.