Autobiography of Kisses

 

Autobiography of Kisses

With guitar and proper hair
how innocent we were
(lips of warm bread) a lifetime ago
(tongue of butter)
just kissing.

Groomed to be a scientist
(though scribbling, always scribbling)
in chem lab oops—sprinklers, a flood.
My bad. And I should not have laughed.
Exiled to the library,
I found you (scent of moss).

In your furrowed brow
I found books of wonder,
your flesh oiled calfskin,
your teardrops the ink of knowledge
while I the scientific fuck-up
had no idea who I was or what I wanted
except kissing (pure as rainfall).

With dark wisdom you whispered
“You are a writer. You should
do what you love—besides kissing”
(taste of pollen, of nectar).

From your touch
(of soft mushroom)
rock solid belief
(and a nibble of teeth).

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

…..

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