My First Kiss

Light. It was light, I think; I remember seeing a faint warm glow around the room. Everything was sort of fuzzy around the edges, but the colors were vibrant and rich and inviting. The red cups organized purposefully on the sides of the table. The green paper shamrock hanging haphazardly on the wall. The blindingly neon pink dress sported by a statuesque blonde. It was warm and light and beautiful.

Maybe it wasn’t just the light. Maybe it was warm because the room was packed with bodies radiating heat and energy and unwieldy sexuality, and our bloodstreams pulsated with far too many mixed drinks. The music reverberated through the soles of my feet and exacerbated the unsteadiness I was already feeling.

Hands touch my waist. Words are exchanged but not understood. Alcohol slides down my throat, leaving a fiery glow that makes everything lighter and brighter and warmer. It is hot. I am sweating. Hands. Arms. Legs. We are walking. Stumbling. Someone falls, not me, I hope – no, I am holding an arm. Whose arm?

Words. Arms. Hands. Mouths. Something bitter and carbonated, something sour and smooth. It is dark and we are close and your hands are on my waist, steadying me as the beer and the music and the darkness infiltrate my senses and I begin to slip away.

Walking. Where are we? The curb surprises me. My ankles give in. An arm drapes over my shoulder and slides slowly toward my hipbone. Hands again, words again. Buzzing. It might be my phone. It might be my blood boiling. Or it might be the rhythm of your mouth on mine.

No words.

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2 comments

  1. this is so poetic!!! I loved this so much that I took the time during my lunch hour to make it into a poem, what do you think? (your words are brilliant):

    The Kiss

    Light
    a faint warm glow around the room
    the colors vibrant and rich and inviting
    heat and energy and unwieldy sexuality
    bloodstreams pulsating
    music reverberating
    exacerbating
    the unsteadiness
    that I am already feeling

    Hands touch my waist
    Words are exchanged
    yet not understood
    Alcohol slides down my throat
    a fiery glow that makes everything lighter
    and brighter
    and warmer

    It is hot
    Hands Arms Legs
    I am sweating
    Stumbling
    Holding onto an arm
    Whose arm?

    Your hands are on my waist
    steadying me
    the darkness infiltrates my senses
    I begin to slip away

    The curb surprises me
    My ankles give in
    An arm drapes over my shoulder
    and slides slowly toward my hipbone

    Buzzing
    It might be my phone
    It might be my blood boiling
    Or it might be the rhythm of your mouth
    on mine…

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