The Kiss

A sultry afternoon—

when sweat pools beneath your arms,

a slow, nauseous psychedelia.

Light fractures off the tarred road,

glistens like crushed diamonds.

The trees hold their breath.

Even the birds—parched—

too weary to sing.

You turn a page,

slowly,

as water gathers on your brow—

trickling down the slope of your nose,

nudging your glasses out of place.

You adjust them.

And adjust yourself.

And in doing so,

you catch yourself.

But it’s too late—

the magic has already slipped in,

soft and sly,

irresistible.

Your gaze finds them:

those lips—

full,

alive,

quivering with a smile

that only you can see.

Your mind sharpens—

like Arjuna’s bowstring taut—

focusing only

on that curve.

You feel it—

the plush, the give,

as they meet

the dry, blackened borders of your own.

—

Since girlhood,

Venus and Serena

were more than names.

They were carved—

gutsy, glorious, tender and tough—

their bodies etched with power,

their lips loud with life.

And you—

you bit yours.

Held them down

until they bled,

swelled,

turned a dark, painful purple.

And you loved it—

because love, to you,

meant ache.

Meant longing.

You hadn’t yet known

your lips, too,

would want to be kissed—

not bitten.

To be caressed

like grass is by the breeze—

not dominated,

but danced with.

You hadn’t known

how grass wants

to be bent by the wind,

to revel in the symphony of surrender.

—

And then—

you tasted it.

Softness.

Roundness.

Raw truth.

You drank it whole.

Not a sip—

a flood.

Trying to end a thirst

you’d carried for lifetimes.

And still—

the night moans with crickets,

the taste returns.

Your tongue remembers the burn,

your lips the rise of fever.

That poison kiss—

that miracle.

The clapper, dead once,

rung again

just to echo that moment forever.

The smell of the universe

entered your nostrils—

and left behind

an epiphany.

—

In your mind,

those lips had met

long before they touched.

So, when they did—

no flinch,

no retreat.

Just a knowing tilt,

a slow turn toward fate.

And then—

the spell spilled its potions.

Wrapped you both—

tender and tight,

a vine around a heart,

creeping, climbing,

choking.

You surrendered—

to its urgency,

its hunger,

its truth.

—

Time stopped.

Stars held their breath.

The sun—

shy,

blazed once

and then hid

behind soft grey.

Storms rose,

and thunder called your names—

But you—

stood still.

Time-locked.