words without: yellow.

it's the smack-smack of soda bubbles against your lips, the cheeky way that lemons make your lips pucker together in a bastardization of a kiss, the way that your fingers feel against my skin. it's the way my breath tastes in the morning, sulfurous and capable of slaughtering entire countries. it's the feeling of a dandelion tickling its way across your skin, the way that your eyelashes feel in the morning against my neck, like tiny stars that dance back and forth at my nape. it's the sour taste of morning-after alcohol in your mouth, the aftertaste coloring everything with a sort of unpleasant coat until something takes it away, like the minty touch of toothpaste. it's the way the sun feels against the sky, the way the sun feels against your skin, when it walks its careful fingers across your chest and holds you in a careful embrace. it's the feeling after you say something that gets everyone laughing, it's the sense you get when someone says they're proud of you, it's the way that it feels to be wanted.