Kiss (Meghan)

Kiss

Three ways:

Imagined.

The black of my dress melding

with the shade of your shirt,

your back pressed up against

the monument in pleasant surprise,

if I were that kind of girl.

Hauntings of the actual

resurfacing at first light.

Soon.  I will see you soon.

Sweet.

Pliable goodbye, you ask

by not asking.  Hesitant,

my left leg shaking without my

understanding.

We laugh at honking onlookers,

wonder how to spell the other’s

last name.  It matters, but not

just now.

Alive.

And not just tactile,

blood coursing brain vessels

because your lips

ate and drank with me,

uttered sentences forged in

another time, and waited

while mine moved, too.

Passing textbook paragraphs

explain the trigeminal nerve.

I forget to think at all.

Hunger doesn’t die, but

still is satisfied.