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“His heat melted into my heat and created an alchemy that metamorphosed the butterflies into a bird of paradise, and I was taking flight with it. This kiss, this this, this us, tasted like indulgence and sustenance. Our tongues moved like we were each other's rice and wine, twirled with the ease of drunken, fed hips. In the kiss, I tasted him and I tasted me and I tasted what we were and what we could be. It tasted like hones and spice, twined.” — Bolu Babalola
His heat melted into my heat and created an alchemy that metamorphosed the butterflies into a bird of paradise, and I was taking flight with it. This kiss, this this, this us, tasted like indulgence and sustenance. Our tongues moved like we were each other's rice and wine, twirled with the ease of drunken, fed hips. In the kiss, I tasted him and I tasted me and I tasted what we were and what we could be. It tasted like hones and spice, twined.