Kisses 101
I want to tell you about kisses,
Kisses are messy. Not everyone
likes them but no one ever says so
unless it is a nine-year old boy.
Men who are still nine at heart
avoid kissing. Their lips
feel like frogs, their breath
smells of the swamp.
Some men are bad kissers
with no hope of improvement.
No one tells them, so their love life
is a thirsty desert. These are men who
missed the kissing lesson
in dance class. Since girls never
miss dance class, they have no
excuses for bad kisses. They
seldom need them
I like kisses. Always have, though I
was slow to start. Before she learned
the hard lessons of separation, mother
quizzed me. I was sixteen,
shy and unready, unwilling
to confess my inexperience. So began
my series of lies about kissing and
all other important subjects.
Did I kiss and tell about the boys
who waylaid me on dark nights
among tall trees? Did I keep the faith
about broken springs in the Buick’s back seat?
Did my mussed hair ever yield
stammered explanation? When I stole a kiss,
whose pot of gold did I plunder? Am I
telling the truth with these paper kisses
or am I only weaving fables
for my trembling tongue’s delight?
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