French kiss
A Northern poem about love's beginnings.
We were girls who had been on the road Passing in December-storm fashion, undaunted Exhilarated by our escape From the regular We arrived breathless Absorbed by the suburban mall afternoon Strollers and balloons
Convenient condom vending machines In the restrooms We kiss-kissed Except me and him Lip proximity made it too dangerous The curious took note of this
The old guitar had to come inside We crossed the parking lot Hunched like melting snowmen. I smelled the leather of his jacket That the men here are so fond of
His feet were wet, as was his beard I was thinking at high speed About a kiss, a real kiss One where they look you in the eyes Before and after Tasting your actual thoughts The way you childhood-dreamt it Kissing for god-knows-how-long Endlessly, on cruise-control
Water streamed from melted slush In wintery rivers As I stumbled into the van’s dark interior Unprepared but ready I would act first A defense grown robust In the rich soil of childhood trauma He was leaning in just slightly Trying to deceive the weather When it happened