Lips are sacred as though God gave me control of everything but said please your lips are for one.
When you come out of relationships and realise you’d gotten to whatever base is last and haven’t given them the taste of your lips you start to wonder.
I start to wonder if my lips are as sacred as you are to me.
If God is telling me you’re the sacred one.
We sit in our bedrooms watching tv interlocked hands and you kiss my forehead.
We look at each other, and in a moment you think THIS HAS GOT TO BE THE MOMENT WHERE CONTROL COMMITS SUICIDE
This has got to be the moment.
But it’s not.
You kiss my nose and laugh at the tv.
You carry on watching, like you’ve accepted that it’s apart of me and it didn’t feel weird.
But I am finding it weird that you’re finding it okay.
No one ever has.
This relationship can’t be compared to others because no relationship is ever the same no matter how much you say you have a type.
The sleeping pattern you love of your lovers you may not have liked in your ex.
We look up at each other again.
Look back at the TV as you snuggle a little closer.
And in that moment I know you’re the one.
Even if my lips become as sacred as the Egyptian book of the dead.
Even if they’re like the only wall of King Soloman’s Temple left standing by the enemies of Israel.