' ' ' ' ' 'The Height Of Passion

I am too tall for you to kiss me directly on the lips & so (it goes) I either(have to) bend down low or you to stand on tippy toe or pucker up on an escalator going down you forever two steps above or gather you up in my arms (& so, surprised &so disarmed) kiss you beyond the pt. of reason (madness even) until one loses all sense of one’s senses of...decorum. The logical thing(it would seem) for you to do would be to carry a soap box (as Hyde Park orators do) & everywhere you go & every time a kiss springs to mind (& you experience an urge to translate thought into the actual doing of it) why you just step right up & have a go. But you(of course) know that you can’t fit even the smallest neatest of soapbox into a clutch purse & being cleverer(than most) resolve to resolve it with a passion & precision that only you(& you alone) can attain. Drawing yourself up to your full 5’ 2” you simply push me(albeit gently) - I such a pushover - back onto a tempting bed shagpile carpet or forest ferny floor whereupon thus cut down to size (I gaze upon the wild imaginings of your eyes) as you take advantage(so to speak) of our now equal positions without the impositions of our relative heights & proceed to kiss me all night just short of... perfect ecstasy.