We Grow Up Kissing

I just remembered a girl I kissed that I had forgotten completely. It was by a pool at a motel off the interstate in the summer. I was in high school and I was cheating on my girlfriend.

Back then, a kiss could still make my stomach quake.

I can't recall exactly when kisses ceased to stop time for me, but it is a feeling I regret losing.

When you're a kid, a kiss is so important, a precious object to stow beneath your pillow. The funny bit is, you're terrible at it. I've never really cared for the phrase "sucking face," but to describe middle school make-out sessions, there isn't a better one.

Yeah, my first real kiss was in middle school. Sure, I'd stolen pecks from pretty girls on the playground, but by real kiss I mean a kiss accompanied by a discernible sexual feeling. Not just a peck, but a kiss to make your pecker erect. Maybe other people's came sooner, and to them I tip my hat.

That kiss was with Laura Fincher in the campers' lounge at summer camp during one of the dances. I was in seventh grade. I even remember the awful song that was playing. I don't know the name or the singer, but the lyrics are "Come baby, come baby, baby, come, come." I felt like I could at the time.

There in the middle of the dance floor we licked each others' faces. Luckily, no one slipped on our mingled saliva. My knees were so weak I'm lucky they didn't give out on me.

Like I said, I don't remember exactly when a kiss stopped feeling that way for me, but it took a while. Eventually, you start to lose count of your kisses, though. They turn into headsup pennies, once rare and fortunate, now a novelty.

I miss everyone from my old universe, the one
that collapsed and shrunk beyond the beyond.

I am terrible at keeping in touch.
First friends disappear, then their faces follow.

Large parts of my past I cannot even remember. I have never
had a good memory. Makes it hard to be a poet of any merit.

All I recall is a forked tree, a lofty home,
and Jesus whispering, "Talk softly,
but carry a big stick."