What makes someone kissable?
Yearning and longing. And hunger.
When I study the photographs of Artem I see his pouty lower lip which is ripe like a saporous tomato; it’s a springboard of affection. What makes Artem kissable? I make him kissable. Just like we assign beauty to others, we also assign kissability.
When I look in a mirror I don’t see someone kissable. But when I look at Artem, all I see is kissable. I see his sparkling, dreamy eyes; the beard which lays on his cheeks, chin, and throat like carpet; the symetrical nose. But more, I spy desire. But he’s not being desirous. I desire him. I want to consume him. I crave him. I’ve been starving for years and he might be plain or he might be stunning; he might be languid or he might be lively; he might be distracted or he might be focused. But it’s not how he’s being at all. It’s about how I’m feeling and projecting it upon him. And our cravings are no passing lanes on a country highway littered with sharp curves, deep valleys, and higher hills. There’s nothing sexier than men being men and letting men litter each other with devotion.
I think that one of the most valuable lessons lovers can learn is to ignore what we think and focus instead on what we see, trusting in the kissability of the other and our willingness to be devoured hungrily.