Trying to write is a pain in my ass

I can still remember the way she tastes if I try. I know that’s a rather creepy thing to hold on to. I am also aware that most mouths just taste like a concoction of breakfast, lunch, and dinner by the time my lips fall on to them. Maybe if its a real bad night, there’s even the vomit and alcohol cocktail hiding in crevices. But not hers. I never understood it, even when she had been drinking or had just consumed Marco’s Nacho Supreme Salad she still was never offensive. A chronic cigarette smoker, I thought perhaps that would effect her velvet tongue and its effects but no. Only my smoke abused mouth felt the wrath of serious halitosis.

She used to taste like black coffee and those butterscotch candies that my grandmother kept in her pockets when I was young and she was alive. When I kissed her it reminded me of placing a gourmet chocolate from Italy on the most sensitive part of your tongue. All of its rich, flavorful beauty washing over my taste buds like smooth perfection. I’ve never experienced anything else quite like it. No other kiss has ever felt or tasted quite the same.

Sometimes I thought it was all in my head. It just doesn’t seem possible that a girl throwing back whiskey should taste like black coffee and innocent old ladies candies.

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