Jason Porter has a story in Electric Literature called “We Were Down.” I love his narrator’s description of a kiss:
She says, “Would you like to kiss me?”
I say, “That is not fair.”
She pulls on my pockets, forcing me to lean into her. I am close enough to smell that she has never sweat. Never in all of her life.
I let her let me kiss her.
It is a spangled microscopic world. Entire villages are dancing and roasting pigs on spits. Families gather around old clanky pianos and sing songs that bring tears to the elders. All of the children playing games in all the streets are scoring goals in a flickering continuum of identical moments. Galaxies gladly collide. There are no tongues. Just four shy curious lips. It lasts about four seconds.