We were walking down Adam’s bend,
stumbling on sweet nothings
that sprouted up in the spur of the moment
in between the cracks in our conversation.
That evening seemed as sweet as the
second-hand secrecy we shared.
She turned to me,
with a bottom lip white-washed from nerves,
and slowly asked, “Matt?”
She let a breath flutter
like those ivory black lashes,
“Should I really be doing this?”
In spur of the nerves, I laughed, “Doin’ what?”
she shyly spoke “This...”
I felt lips press against my collar bone
It was chilling. I froze up.
She kissed up my neck,
and my heart thawed.
She kissed my cheek,
and it began to drip.
She kissed my lips,
and a note that hung on my lungs read:
“Slippery when wet”.
Alas, it lasted a couple of seconds,
with a couple of baby’s breaths in between,
but this wasn’t my first kiss.
It was my first kiss on the lips
of a woman that I knew I loved
© Matt Harlovic