Autobiography of Kisses

 

Autobiography of Kisses

High school kids in the Chevy wagon
(lips of warm bread)
with proper hair
how innocent we were
(tongue of butter)
just kissing.

You unmasked the secret poet,
the scientific fuck-up. I discovered
in your eyes deep libraries,
your flesh oiled calfskin
(scent of musk),
your furrowed brow the ink of knowledge
when I had no idea who I was
or what I wanted
except kissing
(pure as rainfall).

With dark wisdom
(of moss, soft mushroom)
you whispered
You are a writer, nothing else.
You should do what you love—besides kissing.

From your eyes, your voice
rock solid belief
and a nibble of teeth
(taste of pollen, of nectar).

If a poem could kiss
(sprouts)
(fresh, fertile earth)
may it love you like this.

…..

First published in Red Wolf Journal. Thank you editor Irene Toh
photos 1964, 1978

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