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The first time I kissed her I did so out of desire. It was in my basement and the sky outside was cloudy. In the gray light she seemed vulnerable for the first time. So I kissed her, and she seemed surprised by the affection: I don't think it fit with her faux-burning self- image. Time crept by and I started thinking I might want to join with her permanantly, pass through my skin, pass through her skin, become synonyms. The last time our lips separated I knew that I had just wanted to trust some- one with myself completely, and that it was certainly not the time. With her, I believe it will never quite be the time. Nearly every memory I have of her involves clouds, twilight, entanglement, sleep, shivering cold, sweating heat, confession, or revision. |
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