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Tongue:  A tricky part. Seemingly built for one purpose, but capable of so much more. It’s not just pure lust or gluttonous intentions that define the tongue, but joyous laughter that rolls off, catching a snowflake, talking so fast you can barely keep up. Sometimes you can get carried away, lost to the flavours and sensations of new, always itching to try more, and sometimes you forget when to hold yourself back and restrain your eagerness. The tongue is passion, of every good and negative connotation implicit in that, exemplified. In their kiss, you can taste revolution. Chase it, lose yourself to the sensations and wallow in it until everything else can fade away to nothing. It’s the one luxury you can allow for yourself, after all that you’ve endured. Stop biting down, be free.

stop sending them in here