(From a fiction piece)
You used to love holding my hands and kissing them. You would not hold them long enough like a lover would. There was nothing lingering and overtly sensual about the act. You almost made it sing like tender poetry.
On some mischievous days, you would take my hand, and I would still expect you to kiss them. Which you would, but then almost in that split second, you would slide down and then bite one of my fingers. Never too violent, but it always hurt, more due to the surprise and suddeness. I would scream something to the effect of "ouch".
That one day, when you pulled your trick, I slapped you playfully and asked, "Fucking asshole, what are you trying to do. Your bite is not even sexual. At least not to me. If you are trying to turn me on....you are a fucking loser. Does nothing for me."
You grinned like a bear, stared down your coffee and then said, "I am trying to bite a piece off the moon.". After a long enough pause, you said, "The moon needs new craters, na?"
In that moment, I had a dopamine and massive oxytocin high. You never grabbed the moment if ever, if you had only asked me then, to jump on your "fast car", I would so happily have done that. We could have been lovers, if only for one lucking day.
Mom noticed I smiled like a teenaged girl that whole evening.
You and your tropes. I could kiss you and throttle you at the same time. Fucking heartbreaker of a poet.
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