Pay me in kisses

Pay me in kisses, the kind that don’t rush, that arrive softly and decide to stay.

Kisses that hover first, like a thought you’re not ready to say out loud,
then land slow and certain, as if my lips are home and yours finally clocked in.

Pay me in the quiet ones, the almost-smiles,
the pauses where our breathing learns each other.
Where your mouth says I’m here, without asking for applause.

Let your lips do what words keep fumbling, tell me I’m safe, tell me I’m wanted,
tell me this moment doesn’t need witnesses.

Kiss me as if your life depends on this,
like I’m the last prayer you’ve got left,
like you’ve been holding your breath all day and only I can give it back.

No receipts, no deadlines.
Just interest accumulating.
Just mouths speaking fluently in a language only closeness understands.

Kiss me like you mean it.
Like you’re not here to play house, you’re here to come home.

And don’t pay me in promises. Promises are cheap.
But kisses? Kisses are where the truth lives.

Because when your lips meet mine,
it’s not small talk, it’s the whole conversation.