kiss me, Kate Moss, and will I have gravel left on my mouth?

kiss me, Kate Moss, and will something plump or fade or simultaneously transmit the shell of sensation across radio signals, so that my brain may be poked or stuck rather than held or stroked?

kiss me during this song, and you might find your face slowing along the side of a glass, you might find me kicking around in the small pools of leftover red or brown.