NEVER JUST A KISS
Like the silken wetness of
sugared iced tea
to break the humid monotony on a sticky
My face awakened to him.
Falling into his eyes,
the mint leaf from my tea
held onto my upper lip, leaving its
fusion with the cubed ice in my glass.
Cinnamon brown hair upright on his well-groomed head.
His dimples exuded a fine moxie.
I met him on a plane, not once, but three times in two years.
His teenage suave invited me to fall for his
I sipped sweetly tempered tea.
I was too old to be his lover,
But he wasn’t too young to be mine.
His voice not quite past pubescence
carefree lyrics whistled from his
“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark with you between my arms
Barefoot in the grass, listening to our favorite song.
When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath, Darling, you look perfect tonight.”
Unreachable atoms of energy within him
I wanted to settle into his
Yet unsunken chest,
On my last flight to Chicago this year
I dreamt that he kissed me.
When I woke it felt like the mint leaf was pressed against my lips,
firmly stopping my tongue,
but I found his lips were holding mine.
I pulled away.
“It’s just a kiss,” he said as I hastily clutched my bags.
His smile still finds me,
His dimples I remember.
“No,” I said to the lips I will not have again.
“It’s never just a kiss.”