My first kiss

My first kiss
My second kiss
My thirtieth kiss

We used to run tongue circles around each other’s tongue, endlessly. It felt like the whole world around us stopped spinning, as we rolled blissfully.

Our tongues had endless endurance; my eyes did not. Wide open, I’d eventually bore of watching your brown ones. After a few minutes, I began to map and remap the top half of your face, every pore, hair follicle, and freckle. I knew them all so well.

Two years later, we reunited. You leaned in, and with hesitation, I tested a more conventional style.

Abruptly interrupting, “You kiss different now,” you told me, disappointed.

I thought you might be. But I was ashamed of our past ways.