You give kisses without so much as a request. And I appreciate them, I do. Your cool, wet nostrils that snuffle in my ear; that velvety wrinkle just above your nose; the tiny, tickly whiskers that line your pillowy lips; that one fang that never quite makes it back into your mouth; even the particles of God knows what that cling to your chin, are all calling cards that I have come to look forward to receiving. This is a mouth that bites the scruff of its brother's neck, that drips water in a trail from the bowl, that searches out cat doo in the back yard, that eats my houseshoes when I'm not looking, and that sounds the soft warbly chortles at the first sign of a strange Dachsund in the distance. And although I never before would have welcomed such a mouth upon my person in the past, it is yours and so I welcome it. My little French kisses...
Tags: kisses, mouth, snort, teeth
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