the first girl i ever French kissed was a skinny
white girl named Lexie who competed on the
swim team – it was her first time, too. her mother
worked nights, leaving us alone until morning.
that was the night we learned French kissing wasn’t
just an open-mouthed kiss like we saw in the movies.
we formed an X with our faces so wide the only
things touching were the corners of our mouths
rubbing against each other. swallowing each
other’s breath more than anything which,
at the time, was perfectly fine by me. her breath
always like sweet watermelon gum, i’d always ask
her for a piece just to get an idea of what she
might taste like. once, she gave me the piece
already inside her mouth because she didn’t
have any more to share & that’s when i knew
she didn’t just like me, she like-liked me & in the
battle between likes & loves, let me be liked.
let me be like-liked. steal me away. rob me of my
defenses. leave me vulnerable to you. drain my
heart only to refill it again, & again, & again.
a mouth can be a weak point – an open wound –
to some, but she made it a gesture of life, of saving,
our saving. in a world marked by rooms filled with
wrongs, we heroed each other. i was once told
love is only for the poets & the dreamers & means
nothing in the real world, but if that were true,
why, for the first time, does this world finally feel real?

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Image: “Mythical Creature” by Alex J. Tunney