Kiss Under Cover (of the pillow)

Kissing sodium chloride– that’s what kissing is all about.

Not that to lick is slick, or to kiss sodium chloride is to be an ungulate,

At a salt lick,

A block of hastily compacted salt, glued together into a block– a clay colored block.

Apparently there is salt on the tongue, to prevent gagging.

Yet the tongue is, as are all bodily tissues, packed with salt.

Plus, let’s say you are kissing a shoulder of a body out on the beach, in the sun, not near a freshwater lake, but a nuissome ocean.

All oceans are salty, except for inland oceans, which are often called lakes, and thus are not oceans.

The Great Lakes, which had to be made great again, or, in the USSR, which is not the USSR, or commie, meaning Lake Baikal.

Cootie Ghislaine who had rubbed her back and bottomside with titanium dioxide, a Russian Jew, a tone eschew, a screech a holler, her sunsnaked and bottom-lit Gemini, space module, tiny time capsule, felt the vanilla of her unfair skin meld with the sodium chloride, the valuable sodium chloride her body needed to thrive,

On the tongue of her kisser, her lover, her smoocher, her louch loucher, made fragrant, alive.