stood dripping wet
from rain, perfect and silver
against the green of Summer
There was paint on
the steps shining under water.
Her banana seat leaned
in toward the wall sharing a
secret with the potted plants.
There were the eyeglasses of his two
black wheels with red
glistening rails, lying on their
side, forgotten on the lawn,
paying court to the cracks and the dandelions.
She moved her face toward him, freckles on her
cheeks, innocent of paint or artifice,
just a small streak of chain grease beside her nose and
a little scratch on her chin.
His arms,brown and skinny,
all of her pale and soft
entwined without a grasping rub
that becomes required later.
There is a kiss.
A kiss that tastes like cinnamon gum
and something like salt
from a summer day.
There is a kiss
that hangs in its own space,
telling its own story,
saying goodbye.
the moving van playing the role of
that Casablanca airplane,
the train, troopship,
gleaming silver cross in a tropic sky
There is nothing before
it,
nothing after but
the feeling that
the feeling that it
was the most perfect kiss of
his life.
