Kiss of Death

We sat in the car, holding hands, just because if he let go, I would float away. I know that sounds physically impossible but shut up for a second, and feel the way I feel, and you’d understand. He tightens the grip. He understands. But to what extent? Now is not the time to get into that, he just does. He lifts his thick left eyebrow like he always does when he can tell that I'm going deep in my head. I giggle because he really has no clue. We all don't. All he understands is to not let go of my hand because there is a possibility I will float if he does. And that's all I want right now. I put my hand on his face to wipe away that stupid look, and he grabs my hand, still holding the other and pulls me closer to his face where our lips almost touch. Almost.
The tip of our noses touches. He nudges mine with his. I can't help but to smile because that kills me. Butterfly kisses, babe, and you're a tease. And I'm a hopeless romantic. So that kills me. I breathed him in. And at the last bit of inhale, he leans and kisses me. His lips feels like sweet desert rain and his tongue melts in my mouth. I, naturally, melt into his body and surrendered that if I died right now for all of my sins, hell better feel this satisfying.