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16 February 2009
Ode to the Second Kiss
This is for the winning triumph in the joy of the second kiss. The first one’s over and there are thousands more to come if you’re lucky but that second kiss, a little more comfortable with each other’s kissing habits, a little more playful, a little more daring, a little more sunken into loyalty and security, is no silver medal. It’s no second place to that overly talked about first meeting of the lips. For me, the first kiss doesn’t hold a candle to the second one. You can take that shining moment of first contact and sell it to Hollywood but you’re not fooling me, First Kiss. You are icing on the cake.
Second Kiss, you make me happier than anything else. Second kiss, you let me know that the battle’s been won. Second kiss, you let me know that she’s sure. Second kiss, you let me know that it wasn’t just a dream, a passing fancy, a breeze, someone else’s lapse in judgment that crossed my lips. You are the language of dots on maps that say You Are Here. You’re better than a dozen roses, sweet desserts, or valentines. You surpass language.
You conjure images of rainy days when we both call in sick and there are a stack of movies to be watched and tea to be drunk. You are an unspooling future, changing into something better as we talk and talk, sinking further into each other, holes in the boats of our loneliness letting it in, letting it in, letting it in. You are potential energy. You are a promise well meant.
Second kiss, you are a familiar flood. You get the better of the love that gets the best of me. You leave me so far away and lost in love that it would take the light from hate years to reach me. Second kiss, you are the unguarded mis-step, the overshare you make with me because you’re more relaxed than you thought you were. Second kiss, you are a safe place, no longer embarrassed. You, second kiss, mean that maybe, just maybe, I’ll have someone to share all of this with.
You are the gem of this dirty world. You are an orchestra caught up in the second measure, lost in the notes long before the finale. You trill with erotic knowledge and times about to be shared. We will start to treat each other like couches, daring to believe that we’ll be around for a while, wallowing in the fact that it’s even possible to take each other for granted.
As far as I’m concerned, you leave the first kiss in the dust.
But you’re nothing compared to the third.
tags
This is for the winning triumph in the joy of the second kiss. The first one’s over and there are thousands more to come if you’re lucky but that second kiss, a little more comfortable with each other’s kissing habits, a little more playful, a little more daring, a little more sunken into loyalty and security, is no silver medal. It’s no second place to that overly talked about first meeting of the lips. For me, the first kiss doesn’t hold a candle to the second one. You can take that shining moment of first contact and sell it to Hollywood but you’re not fooling me, First Kiss. You are icing on the cake.
Second Kiss, you make me happier than anything else. Second kiss, you let me know that the battle’s been won. Second kiss, you let me know that she’s sure. Second kiss, you let me know that it wasn’t just a dream, a passing fancy, a breeze, someone else’s lapse in judgment that crossed my lips. You are the language of dots on maps that say You Are Here. You’re better than a dozen roses, sweet desserts, or valentines. You surpass language.
You conjure images of rainy days when we both call in sick and there are a stack of movies to be watched and tea to be drunk. You are an unspooling future, changing into something better as we talk and talk, sinking further into each other, holes in the boats of our loneliness letting it in, letting it in, letting it in. You are potential energy. You are a promise well meant.
Second kiss, you are a familiar flood. You get the better of the love that gets the best of me. You leave me so far away and lost in love that it would take the light from hate years to reach me. Second kiss, you are the unguarded mis-step, the overshare you make with me because you’re more relaxed than you thought you were. Second kiss, you are a safe place, no longer embarrassed. You, second kiss, mean that maybe, just maybe, I’ll have someone to share all of this with.
You are the gem of this dirty world. You are an orchestra caught up in the second measure, lost in the notes long before the finale. You trill with erotic knowledge and times about to be shared. We will start to treat each other like couches, daring to believe that we’ll be around for a while, wallowing in the fact that it’s even possible to take each other for granted.
As far as I’m concerned, you leave the first kiss in the dust.
But you’re nothing compared to the third.
tags