I remember the first time you kissed me.
We had escaped the loud echoes of your drunk friends,
and left my too-sober roommates to wait for my return.
Your best friend ran up the stairs after I left,
I skipped down the street as the girls called after me, questioning.
I remember the smile that would not fade,
the one that gave all of the answers away.

I remember the second time you kissed me.
We drank too much wine and sat too close together
and told each other too many things.
You yelled at me to stop talking so much,
I asked you questions you pretended not to hear.
I remember the way you kept trying to leave,
but how you did not want to go.

I remember the third time you kissed me.
We got into a fight that you tried to fix
with an overnight stay in the room where we first kissed.
We didn't talk about the fight.
I told you things I'll never forget because I knew you'd never remember.
I remember the way you tried to kiss me in the morning,
and how I left, pretending I didn't know.

I remember the fourth time you kissed me.
That night, I realized we would only ever be friends
and then our hands kept touching, our legs intertwined.
You asked me to tell you everything and anything,
as you wrapped your arms around me.
I remember the way I could see you, looking at me,
out of the corner of my eye when I was too afraid to look at you.

I remember all of the times after when you kissed me.
Graduating to morning, then afternoon,
private to public, drunk to sober.
You kissed me for all reasons,
and no reason at all.
I remember the way you always smiled afterwards,
and how it always made me feel sure.

I remember the last time you kissed me.
It was too early in the morning for there to be time,
my eyes couldn't tell if the sun was awake.
I waited and waited for there to be another one,
but there wasn't.
I remember thinking of all the other kisses,
and knowing too deeply that this would be it.