There are, on the luscious pink lips that you so want to kiss, grooves so tiny that can be seen only when you’re very close, such proximity granted only when you are eligible to kiss those lips, that have within them similar tiny grooves invisible to the naked imagination, filled with thick and slowly moving saliva which often contains a residual of nearly everything imaginable, and thus is an alive cesspool of tiny microorganisms moving about and procreating and excreting. That’s what makes them so tasty.

Her breath, that often sparks a fire in your loins, has traveled a trachea filled with mucus assigned to collect most of the dirt that it comes into contact with, before passing into a jungle of nasal hair, swaying them inward and outward, all too often drying them up and drying the thin layer of thick mucus glued to the nose by sapping all of the moisture, which mostly would contain a colony of alive microorganisms moving about and procreating and excreting. That’s what gives you goosebumps.