They call it kissing.

I'll meet you there __

  at the end of me
  touching the end of you
     the end of your ocean

where ripples of you
   waving on your tongue
crush on your lips' shores.

we'll pour our seas into each other's
   mix our flavors, our colors,
        and blend our sands

 so that we may never end again.

     I'll sip the last spills of you
by the cliff of your chin.

and let us be nothing
but two pairs of lips suspended
      two ends tasting infinity.