The kiss, Alber knows,
is the sign of great love
or great betrayal. Juliette
presses her lips to his.

There is spittle there
Somewhere, but neither
cares nor senses any of that.

In between kisses she talks
of the pregnant black cat.

He remembers his first kiss,
that girl whose mother never
trusted him as a boy, gave
him his first joy. Where had
it been? he asked inwardly,
pressing his lips to Juliette’s,
ah, yes, in the porch of her
parent’s house, the moon
bright, stars out like sprinkled
sugar on an expanded black cloth.

And about their heads that
**** moth. Juliette saying,
funny how they have such
low bellies, pregnant cats,
and have so many. He moves
his tongue inside her mouth,
along her teeth, touching her
tongue, exchanging warm fluids.

He presses his hands onto her
buttocks, feeling the softness
through cloth. She silent now,
and there about their heads,
that big brown fluttering moth.