Jane looks confused.

I kissed her
when I met her
by the water tower
in Bugs Lane.

Why did you
kiss me?

She's wearing
her grey dress
and cardigan;
her eyes look at me.

Impulse,
I didn't think,
I say,
presumptuous of me.

Presumption
is like a kind of theft.  

Sorry,
should have asked.

She looks over
the hedge
towards the farm,
then back at me.

I wasn't expecting it,
but it was nice.

I feel like a ****;
I look at her
dark hair
long and untied
by ribbons
as she does sometimes.

If you'd been a peach
I’d have nibbled.

She smiles
and looks up
towards the Downs.

A blue tractor
is climbing upward.

I hope he's careful,
she says,
a tractor driver
was killed
a few months ago
doing that;
he was crushed
beneath the machine.

I look at the tractor.

He seems competent.

So did the one killed;
my father had
to comfort the widow
and perform
the funeral service.

I take her in
side ways on:
her complexion is pale,
her lips
a washed out pink.

Maybe I can show you
his grave
in the churchyard.

Ok,
I say.

Churchyard viewing
is not
my favourite pastime,
but if I’m with her
I don't mind
watching paint dry.

I want to kiss her again,
but feel unsure.

Sorry about
the presumptuous kiss.

She looks at me.

Imagine I'm a peach,
she says.

I kiss, not nibble;
we kiss
and she nibbles
my lip with her lips.

I feel electricity
tingle my finger tips.