i am enamored not with the intimacy of a first kiss but with the intimacy of the hundredth and third one. by this kiss, lips are familiar territory: their grooves and cracks are canyon ridges i’ve traversed and laid claim to; their flimsy pieces of dead skin that peel off like decade-old paint, sometimes blood-soaked, get crushed between my teeth.

“hey,” i pull back, concerned. “you’re bleeding.”

“huh,” he licks his bottom lip a few times, “i guess am.”

there’s a pause, a recalibration. he stares at me. i stare at him. i watch his chest rise and fall like a looping wave. i wiggle my fingers as if i’m moving air, as if i’m modulating time. he presses his lips together, deciding if he’s going to cut through time instead but temptation’s beaten him to it. a Cheshire cat smile appears on his face and my “oh, you’re no-“ is cut short because he kisses me again. i gasp. the sudden crush of metal reverberates in my mouth.

ii.

we’re heading home from a birthday party, weaving through the downtown throng of ghosts. our bodies separate and meet again with the innate fluidness of two souls who have been pulled apart in many lifetimes only to come together in the following ones. i wonder what number lifetime this is.

november is non-existent, detached from all other months. everyone becomes a ghost, even me. tonight, the sky is a long stretch of dark blue with pin-prick stars splattered across it. if i reach up, i’ll cut my finger on one of them. so i don’t reach up, i stare ahead. the glowing yellow-orange streetlights crane their necks when we approach them, rushing to cast their phosphorescence onto us. we slow down. the air flattens against me. it’s cold. but i always like this type of cold because it’s like a second skin.

Danny turns around next to a restaurant window just as i keep walking. so i walk into his chest. i don’t go through him, not this time at least — because i’m good at that: becoming a phantom. i don’t pull back either. instead, i slowly look up, wishing i could stretch this moment out as far as time will let me. i do that a lot with him: try to take small moments and throw their starts and ends to opposite sides of the room.

he leans in, enough that the tips of our noses brush against each other, enough that i can feel his warm breath prickling my lips, enough that i can almost taste the watermelon lozenge tucked beneath his tongue (i want to steal it) but not enough that i am tasting him yet. i rarely remember a single word that is said during these kisses because the sleepy haze i operate from pulls all the words away from my view like windshield wipers. my lips swipe past the corners of his lips, leaving a faint pink lipstick stain there; my fingers slide down his cheeks, grazing peach fuzz and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. i’m trying to work my way up but i’m sinking instead. Danny caresses my face with one hand and holds my body up with the other. he looks at me with a sense of wonder in his eyes, the wet glisten of someone in love. and then, as i start to smile at him, he leans in and kisses me. for a brief moment, i feel the subtle pressure of his smiling lips; the familiar grooves and outlines collide with mine and stay there like a promise. the moment unfolds mechanically; our lips start moving against each other in a delicate tread until more seconds pass and my fingers start digging into his arms and his breathing gets ragged and fervent friction gives way to immediate need. as i swipe the lozenge from his mouth into mine, the cloud of watermelon drifts up my nostrils and fogs up my vision. i lose my grip on reality.

and then we are back home on the living room couch, three a.m. tapping on the front door, moonlight cascading over the windowsill, white lace curtains swimming in the breeze. everything around us is awake and moving but there’s a stillness to all of it. something intricate and thousand-layered in every motion, from the crinkling low-hum static of the fairy lights in our bedroom to the bouncing thump of the couch adjusting to our weight.

the slow creep of moonlight possesses Danny, enveloping him in its cool silver glow. i see my shadow on the wall behind him outlining him as if i was his own shadow. i push his hair away from his face, tucking several strands behind his ears. he looks up at me with twinkling eyes and slightly parted lips, gentle curiosity painted in watercolor over his face — i use everything within me to not crumble. i catch my breath and focus on moving. i glide my fingers slowly through his hair and back again. i brush my thumb along the arch of his eyebrow. i sink past his cheekbones, along the curve of his jaw. i cup his face in the cradle that is my hands, the beauty of his youth spread bare beneath my fingers: the smooth slope of his nose; the two pencil-mark moles, one beneath his right eyebrow, the other above his lip; his lips, the color of a quiet rose, curve upward in a slow-motion smile (it’s dazzling); his eyes, warm, dark brown, finite; his cheeks, in modest bloom for me.

i trace my finger down the bridge of his nose and let it fall onto the valley above his lips. i keep my finger there, slowly meandering like a lost tenant. he waits and watches. i never know what he’s going to do in these in-betweens but i’m never scared because i know i’ll be caught in safe arms. he grabs my finger in his right hand, clutching it tight, holding it against his lips, studying my face for a reaction. i press my lips together and smile shyly. he gives my finger a little love bite and i giggle. even when i didn’t know him, i think i’ve loved him my whole life.

he sits up and flattens his hands against my back, pushing my body towards him. i brace for a kiss that never comes because Danny stops himself centimeters away from my lips. i inch forward to close the gap — a slow crawl to the finish line — but he moves back instead. i wait, unsure of where to go or what to do next. he leans up, his nose skimming along the underside of my jaw, and i let him take the lead. i live in anticipation of him slowly dragging his lips across my neck, his search for that tender spot to sink into that makes my knees give way (my body, possessed). feverish heat, flushed face; fraught breaths, frenzied limbs. youthful suppleness plump against taut skin, over and over again. he kisses that spot, he does, and my knees begin to shake. i grab his shoulders to steady myself, and his sweet laugh echoes around my head. “i got you,” he tells me. he does, but that doesn’t mean i won’t unravel before then. his hands slip beneath my sweater and settle around my rib cage. the pads of his fingers glide up and down over each crest and valley in a hypnotizing sequence. my body is cool but his hands are warm against my bare skin. i take a deep breath in, the aftertaste of watermelon still lingering.

my skin is an illusion. his fingers disappear into my body, in between my ribs. he slinks across them like an acrobat, looking to find my heart. when he does, he wraps his hand around it and squeezes it twice. it knocks the wind right out of me. suddenly, breathing isn’t so easy. i gasp for air. there’s a weightlessness to my bones and limbs, as if i’m floating, but survival instincts have kicked in as well and i find myself clawing at his shirt, twisting the soft material between my fingers and pulling him towards me. i get his face close to mine, my eyes darting frantically trying to find something in his. “just wait,” he says. so i listen. i wait while he presses his thumb against my heart and she sputters a little blood over him. i wait while his lips teasingly sweep mine and do nothing more than that. i wait while my knees dig into his thighs and i feel so heavy that i could fall through the earth, yet i feel so light that i could also float out of this room if he were to let go of me. i wait and i wait because i’ve become so good at waiting my whole life that, even as my eyes begin to flutter and a headlessness takes over, i am still waiting.

this is when he finally loosens his grip on my heart.

this is when he finally kisses me.

i open my mouth and inhale.