Lip to Lip

Lip to Lip

Ah, look at that honey dripping from your mouth. Those thick, sweet honey. I want to lick it so bad. You nodded and crept closer. So close I could smell the sweet, sweet scent. That night, you were I, and I was you. Under the moon, we danced until we collapsed at each other's embrace.

And so it went, every day. Your lip was mine, and mine yours.

Until that day, I saw you dripped your honey to another person--rather than me. I saw how that person was thrilled--that person was roused! And so it went until everyone had tasted your sweet, sweet honey. And I was alone. Those sharp eyes smirking and those lips glared. I could see the honey dripping from them. But I wasn't happy. I was enraged, dejected, humiliated!

But, see? My mouth was also dripping with honey. Perhaps even tastier, even more appealing.

So I transferred my honey to others. From lip to lip. Ah, how liberating, how delightful. They were satisfied, and so was I. They were craving with my honey. See? I could see you curled up in the corner--blood had replaced your sweet honey. I licked my upper lip--a bitter-sweet chocolate sauce left from some person--and giggled. That was a payback for what you'd done.