To kiss may be the prefect reason to be alive.

To taste the breathe of another being in anticipation for knowing the softness and tender vessels that have spoken a thousand tales and tasted the spices of all the corners of the world. Something so simple yet so exquisitely rich in the telling of what adventures to come. To speak in a language only understood between lovers and lips. The little gifts of grace that can be stolen away in line at a cafe, or tasted under the sweet spring showers like the liminal seasons of the soul. A time capsule between first and last embrace and every single soft moment between. Kiss like the the universe will implode tomorrow and you want to imprint the taste of her lips on your soul. So that you can find each other time and time again and tell the tales of your adventures and loves that you have found over the lifetimes. Kiss like you are writing poetry on her lips, sonnets that no man or woman has heard, as if you were having to explain to
Lost generations the magic of this moment. And that each kiss is a star that twinkles in darkness until the entire sky is bursting with brilliance. Kiss, always, as if it is your first and possibly your last. There is no language I like to speak more than the one that can be found there between breath and your lips. ~ Larson Langston