Soul-refreshing are your lips,
Breath of Christ are your lips.
The god of beauty, with nectar divine
Has charged the goblet of your lips.
Wisdom, philosophy, deep truths,
Inform the utterance of your lips.
With ruby-pen the lovers of your lines,
Inscribe the message of your lips.
The grass, the foliage, and the bloom,
Forever crave to kiss your lips.
My palate and tongue get honey-drenched,
Whensoever I mention your lips.
What an treat for Wali's tongue,
Morn and eve to praise your lips!

I love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire

So slight a compression of the lips, and widening of the eyes, to convey so much amusement and contempt.

How very lovable her face was to him. Yet there was nothing ethereal about it; all was real vitality, real warmth, real incarnation. And it was in her mouth that this culminated. Eyes almost as deep and speaking he had seen before, and cheeks perhaps as fair; brows as arched, a chin and throat almost as shapely; her mouth he had seen nothing to equal on the face of the earth. To a young man with the least fire in him that little upward lift in the middle of her red top lip was distracting, infatuating, maddening. He had never before seen a woman’s lips and teeth which forced upon his mind with such persistent iteration the old Elizabethan simile of roses filled with snow.
Perfect, he, as a lover, might have called them off-hand. But no — they were not perfect. And it was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity.

The impression produced by the size of his extremities, and by his flapping and wide projecting ears, may be removed by the appearance of kindliness, sagacity, and the awkward bonhommie of his face; the mouth is absolutely prodigious; the lips, straggling and extending almost from one line of black beard to the other, are only kept in order by two deep furrows from the nostril to the chin; the nose itself — a prominent organ — stands out from the face, with an inquiring, anxious air, as though it were sniffing for some good thing in the wind; the eyes dark, full, and deeply set, are penetrating, but full of an expression which almost amounts to tenderness; and above them projects the shaggy brow, running into the small hard frontal space, the development of which can scarcely be estimated accurately, owing to the irregular flocks of thick hair carelessly brushed across it.

Low gurgling laughter, as sweet
As the swallow's song i' the South,
And a ripple of dimples that, dancing, meet
By the curves of a perfect mouth

The sweet imperious mouth, whose haughty valor
Defied all portents of impending doom.

Those sweet lips. My, oh my, I could kiss those lips all night long.

Good things come to those who wait.

There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive.
And as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal till I could see in the moonlight the moisture
Then lapped the white, sharp teeth.
Lower and lower went her head. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited.

A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally.

You've got an awfully kissable mouth.

the sun shone into her mouth as into a tulip, and lent it a similar scarlet fire.

Soul meets soul on lovers lips.

I kissed a mystery, and it tasted like a woman. Lips are always full of delicious secrets.