19
Mar
14

Lips

It isn’t posible for me to write a poem to those lips because it would be an epic poem, like the Odyssey or the Iliad. It would be equal parts testimonial and confessional, with illustrations and diagrams, and would still fall short. There are no words to accurately depict and describe the way in which the corner of her bottom lip is almost permanently tucked into her teeth, in a flirtatious and playful nibble- until it is clenched between her teeth in the full throws of passion. The curl they make in the corners of her smile. How soft they are when they are kissed, and how sweet they taste. So perfectly sized to match my own lips, a mirror to reflect my passion. I am lost in white noise when she speaks because I watch their movement and am deaf to the words that I assume are exiting from them. It would require more adjectives and adverbs than grains of sand on a beach. The keys of my keyboard would wear out, and all my ink wells would run dry before scratching the surface of their delicacy.

No, there can be no poem for her lips, those perfectly soft and wonderful lips. It just isn’t possible.

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