“I didn’t form my lips into the shape of a kiss. I was merely about to whistle.”

“My love is like the shape your mouth makes while you whistle. Would you mind if I accompanied you on my harmonica?”

“I didn’t accept your sacrifice. I turned it down.” I felt a small Oh form at my mouth, but it never quite made it past my lips. “Are you saying you gave up getting a human body for me?”

“As to my mouth, of all my features, I wish I could possess my mouth again, just as it had been before the fire. I had my mother’s lips, generous below and above; and what kissing I had practiced, mainly on my hand or on a lonely pig, had convinced me that my lips would be the source of my good fortune. I would kiss with them, and lie with them, I would make victims and willing slaves of anyone my eyes desired, simply by talking a little, and following the talk with kisses, and the kisses with demands. And they’d melt into compliance, everyone of them, happy to perform the most demeaning acts as long as I was there to reward them with a long, tongue-tied kiss when they were done. But the fire didn’t spare my lips; it took them too, erasing them utterly.”

“I kissed her again, tenderly touching my lips to hers. “Now what?”“Kiss the kids, and then you and I can celebrate eleven years of in-your-face-we-made-it. How about that?”

“I have to bite my lip not to lean down and kiss her. God, I want to kiss her so bad”