amuse bouche: making out

You know what I miss? Making out.

Kissing for hours and hours on end for no other reason than to kiss.
Getting utterly lost in the feel of the other person's mouth,
the smell of that spot where neck meets shoulder,
the sounds of shared breathing.
Indulging in each singular moment because there was no telling if you were going to get more.
Each kiss was a treat,
each caress a surprise;
actual contact was something in and of itself.
Every time was something amazing - a moment out of time.

Sneaking off to a prop room,
a dark hallway,
a restaurant supply closet,
a church kitchen
because that was the only place you had to go.
Pushing it hard and fast, fully clothed,
because you might not get another chance,
and because this one might end surprisingly soon.
Orgasms stolen from uncomfortable moments you wouldn't trade for the world.