Tuesday, December 30, 2014

the first kiss

he kissed
as he did before
with skill and passion
he read once in a magazine

it translated as an eager wetness
that had me looking for an umbrella

how i wished for hands
that traveled timidly around
my body
fingers that gloried on its twisted journey
in the tumble of
my hair

how i hoped for warmth
and decisiveness
to touch the beginnings of
my heart

if i could only start
that time over again
with the poet's bravery
that i have now

it would have been different for he
and me

but the past is meant to be
lived not changed
no rearrangement
would help me learn

that the first burn is never perfect
but oh how it glow!


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