I Don’t Know Your Middle Name, But I Can’t Stop Thinking About Kissing You

Jérôme Licht
Jérôme Licht

I don’t know your middle name, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.

I’ve only talked to you in superficials, in hypotheticals, but I can’t stop imagining the way my name would sound coming out of your mouth.

I’ve never touched your skin, but all I can thing about is the way your hands would feel all over me.

I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know if you shower in the morning or night or how you take your coffee or if you talk in your sleep or honestly who you are. But I know I wouldn’t hate seeing how you looked with water dripping down your shoulders, would watch your lips sip anything and everything, and would listen to whatever you said at midnight so long as it was in my ear.

Something about saying “crush” seems juvenile, seems trivial. You’re not a crush, not a school girl fantasy. You’re a fascination. You’re interesting, and intriguing, and mesmerizing and I want to study you until I’m an expert.

You make me remember what it’s like to call myself thirsty and not say it ironically.

I need to be quenched and I want it to be you that satiates me.

You’re not a crush, you’re something more. Something better. Something hotter. Something more desperate.

I’m not sure what you are, but I know that exploring every inch of you with every inch of me until I found out would be the best thing for both of us.

You might not be a crush, and I might not even be sure what you are, but I know I want to find out. I know I want to stop dreaming about you climbing on top of me and actually lay down and let you. I want to stop thinking about you licking your lips and leave over wet them myself.

I may not really know you, but I’d like to make you want to know me.

I don’t know your middle name, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.

I couldn’t pick out your voice in a choir, but I know I want to hear it moaning my name.

I’ve never held your hands, but I can’t stop thinking about them working their way up my thighs.

Baby, I’m not sure what you taste like but I know I could drink you all night long. Thought Catalog Logo Mark


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