TT ( / )

First Kiss

While staring at an innocent yellow wall,
I decide I want my first kiss back.
It was mine, and it was wasted
on a boy without a face.

I remember his gentle scheming
and how I’d believed in fairytales.
My precocious giggles, aimless chatter,
and wide-eyed, summer-night smiles
brought him over the fence with a
jump and a smirk, and then,
his lips were flat on mine.

When he was done and my lips
were smacked with a wet cool,
I opened my eyes to see that
the sky was still blackish-blue.
The birds slept soundly and
the air was possessed
with the slither-'ssh' of cars
and the muffled murmur of the
neighbourhood squawk-boxes.
Time had ambled along,
like a gypsy by the roadside,
and I was still standing stable.

My pink-lipped assailant laughed
lightly to my side, thinking he’d
bested me, perhaps even charmed me.
Yet, with that kiss, he’d undone it all,
and I could see him clearly, even with
a moon that hid nervously behind him.
His voodoo had left me, and I was
free from pins and sins.

His lips had been rough, and
his tongue was a cold, clammy,
flopping fish, flapping clumsily
inside my maidenly mouth.
White feathers floated
to the ground around me
while all the flowers
lowered their heads and sighed.

Disenchanted and flattened,
I struggled to understand
the fuss of all this.
The assault of tangled lips
had violated my whims and wishes
leaving me disheartened,
in need of an escape.

So I left him by the fence
holding his chafed presumptions,
and I went inside,
up to my bedroom
with the pinks and the whites
and quietly closed the door.

You can’t wash it off.

Cupidity died, and
there was no consolation.
That boy’s face became a
muddy, foggy blur, and his
name, in my mind, a four-letter word.

These many years later,
I’ve learned to stop time,
and the kiss is now
a language I’ve mastered.
Lights dance and music plays
and nothing feels cold and
heavy. It warms me.

With all the joyful pecks
and soul-kissing since,
I’d like the first one back.

User Rating: 4,6 / 5 ( 4 votes ) 13

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Comments (13)

One can never know pleasure....without first having experienced pain! Excellent composition.
Oh, the things we can't wash off. And the moments that divide our lives into a time before, and a time after. If you find a do-over button, buy me one and I'll pay you back. Great work, unique perspective as usual, Tara. Don
This is a special piece of poetry, you have an original take on the usual romantic first kiss poetry. And if we think, so many first kisses must be less than those perfect moments in time. Lol, I knew who I wanted for my first kiss. I gave him my telephone number at the end of the seventh grade, spoke to him all summer on the telephone, and after we went to our first school dance, I pretty much told him that he was going to kiss me when we stood out there by the lockers. Peace, L&T
wonderful comments here - quite a list! but no poem, I fear, if his kiss had missed. -chuck
I'm sure if you said it to him that way, he wouldn't be hurt by it much. That was the best way you could ever say something negative to somebody. I have my regrets too... but that was wonderfully expressed right there :) I love how your work seems to have a distinctive ending. It's very strong.
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