“not by the hairs on my chinny-chin chin”

everyone always talks about forehead kisses from someone you love. your mom, after you’ve broken down to her, telling the person who birthed you how little you care for this life she dies to give you… your sister because you’re sitting on your ground and it’s the only way she can show all the love for you… your dog (or cat) because you’re lying down on the ground and they want your attention.

i’ve never had someone kiss me on my chin. until you came along. and it became your spot. a spot that i could never let anyone else touch, hold, or much less kiss. a part of me that i can say is yours, and yours alone. i wouldn’t even tattoo it because i don’t want it to be tainted with ink. it’s your spot.

here, there’s no big bad wolf. just two cats, ginger. one cat, so enamored by the other that their heartbeat is constantly in perfect tempo, the other whose eyes shift far and wide, but only focus on them.

i’ve never had someone kiss my chin, kiss my beating heart, kiss my soul the way you have. this kiss is the kind you go mad about, the thought that it could be given to someone else... i never considered myself the jealous type, but my oh my, the crash out that befalls me when i attempt to think that someone else could’ve received that chin kiss, someone that’s not me, my blood boils. your kiss is my water in the desert. your kiss is the antidote to all my aches and pains, the release from carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.