Tummy tales

I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've imagined kissing your stomach.  I've imagined lunging toward it planting my lips like footprints on the moon. I've imagined going slow. And I've imagined kissing your stomach like it was a road map and I was just trying to get from here to there. I've imagined kissing your stomach when you're holding our child like I know they can't actually know that I'm out here watching them grow and taking care of both them and you, But I do it anyway. I've imagined kissing your stomach when you're sick as if my lips hold a cure for nausea somewhere between the cracks. And yeah. My lips have cracks. But not for lack of attention. More like lack of words meant to be said. My lips are rusted from years of misuse. And they miss your stomach. They miss your skin. And kissing your stomach is something magical because I never remember my lips hurting afterwards. And I have a theory it's because you're that fucking soft. I could sit next to you for hours and let your belly button tell stories of how it never settles the way I want it to. So I know when your shirt comes off it really turns me on but someday after we've fucked for the 800th time, I want to just lay next to you and kiss your stomach. Because for me it settles my nerves and slows my breath. It relieves the pressure on my forehead it takes away all my aches and pains. One day. I'm gonna kiss your stomach and my lips won't be cracked. I'll look at you and say, "you're so soft." And mabe my lips will do justice to your skin and for once in my life, be soft too.