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I wonder about what his lips taste like. Are they sweet? Salty? Sour? Do they taste like a summer's day, or like the winter covered in mantles of thick white. Are they warm or cold? Do they remind me of the bloody lemons, or the pure peaches from The Garden of Xi Wangmu? Or are they apples from the Hespirides - the maidens. I imagine his lips, blushed in rosé fairy-dust, those lips so soft and gentle, on the broken blue lips of mine. I see his lips, plump and dampened with his saliva, dancing away on the earth.
