The Kiss
In the company of new friends, one asked
Each to reveal their best kiss
And not wanting to show the green center of the bloom
And because most days I’m a fool,
I fumbled
My answer, and in his reaction,
Learned my lover’s feelings
Were the same as mine.
Docked poolside, impossibly fleshy under midday sun,
My cowardly heart bit its lip, leaked hot, disgusting clots of blood.
Why must we test each other’s love by inflicting wounds?
Still the writer’s gift is second chances.
Months later, you
Had been gone for some time,
On too long a trip
And it scared me how much I missed you.
I was a child again,
Freshly wounded with the understanding
That being on my own
Wasn’t good enough now
That I knew you.
You were coming straight from the airport for me
And I was waiting at my window pretending to read
And running to the curb when your car pulled up and I was
Carrying a bouquet of flowers — fool!
You said my name and I said yours.
It rained in the dark streets around us.
We were whispering in the backseat and sitting as close
As our bodies would allow.
And that was the kiss.
I’d tell anyone who asked me.
That was the kiss.
