When I was younger,
I kissed a lot,
I mean many, many lips...
I kissed in dares,
Men with hair
and without.
I kissed in hiding places behind trees,
In dark movie theatres,
In sunshine and under deep blue water...
Oh, the places my lips have been.
Breathless pants,
mouthing moans at just a glance...
Oh yeah, I've been there!
And what about the inappropriate kisses?! Trauma kisses from people you trusted; my History teacher, when he took me up to the Monument one day after school,
we sat there in his car, stroking my hand, he leaned in and took it way too far...
Eventually, I moved away and we "lost touch"
But I still think about it...and moving home, I often wonder if I will ever see him walking somewhere near?
But as I've matured,
and become more discriminating...discerning --
I've run out of kissing stories to tell.
They now feel like the lips of a princesses waiting in the tower
Waiting for the kiss from her prince --
I long for a kiss --
that takes my breath away...
This poem wrote itself and came from somewhere deep within. I did not start out to write about my History teacher, it just came to me...timing? Closure? I hope so!