The Kiss

The KISS. You know the one in the club when the strobes where shining down and distorting our motions so that we looked like we were moving in a Charlie Chaplin film? The one that you said was mechanical like kissing the motorized bull at Gilley’s? I never got to explain. You see there was a reason for my awkwardness, for six sets of thumbs, for the five second pause, for the foreplay I halted, for the three shots I did, for the two of us together and then in a moment alone. The reason my dear was the red rooster eyes, yeah the cock heavy stare of a friend of a friend who was beetling down on us, who was playing the keeper of the gate of a man that believes the world to be his private pedestal and you a porcelain knick knack to polish, to display for a time and then to stow the memory away in his foot locker when he bores of you. So you see it wasn’t for lack of lust that my lips turned plastic but rather for a lack of privacy. Later that night when I dropped you at your door, yeah the rectangular thing with the knocker, I extended my lips, puckered them exclusively, but they fell unattended onto your doorstep for you had already gone inside…