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Lips Together

     

My lips can whistle; a trick they learned when I was 12. My eyes were watching a movie: “ You know how to whistle don’t you?” She said, “Put your lips together and blow.” An innuendo I thought, for something bigger, something better. My lips were hooked.

My lips sit slightly askew. A thought forms at the opening but I choose not to provide the breath it needs to enter the room. My lips seal themselves tight, in solidarity. I think the thought through until it melts into another, and another, and another. It’s gone.

When I choose to push certain thoughts through my lips, powerless to hold back the momentum, sit with regret. Or they quiver with tension until at last sound is released; a howl or a scream, or a moan. They let the despair escape and then wait patiently until the wave retreats back to the bottom of where it came from.

My lips sit in contemplation at times. Peaceful and content.

My lips occasionally feel a drop of flavour land before it is licked into the darkness behind them and never seen again.

Memories are made from the moment right before; right before a taste, a cry, a thought, a kiss. The moment my lips prepare for the impact of experience and can feel all the possible possibilities. The moment they are alive.

 

 

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