Did we really kiss thirty-one times?

Who knows? Who cares?

Who counts past three, anyway?

Soft kisses.

Laughing kisses.

Almost-kisses—
       stolen at the edge of conversation.

Kisses like questions,
  kisses like answers,
   kisses that paused,
   then started again,

   just to be sure.

We tasted them all—
    sweet and slow,
    quick and daring,
    lingering like caramel,
    electric like peppermint,
    warm as cinnamon,
    dangerous as bourbon…

    and a thousand shades in between.

Some were whispers,
   barely touching,
     others burned,
left us breathless,
   hungry for more.

Kisses that felt like promises,
       kisses like confessions—
    each one revealing a truth,

    each taste a reminder of why we keep coming back.

Did we really find thirty-one?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Because every kiss—
   felt like the first,
        like the last,

        like the only.

And even after a thousand more,
    I know we’ll never run out…

    out of flavors to discover.