Kisses Hello

Kisses Hello

 

“It’s nice to meet you!”

 

I haven’t heard that in a while,

shaking hands

in public places.

 

A kiss?

Maybe two.

 

Stubble feels like sandpaper

ripped across the lips,

it’s better to aim for the mouth,

unless rude.

 

A feather floats into my purse,

like magic,

like me;

not “magical”

but magic just the same.

 

And I can float on air

without wings,

it only takes a thought

or a “nice weather we’re having!”

from a passer by.

 

No kisses hello for them,

just a courteous nod.

 

And the conversation continues

mirrored in the eyes

of, what’s his face.

 

I think his name was Milford.

 

And now I have enough feathers

to fill a pillow,

“it’s nice to meet you too!”

I say,

with a little blood in my mouth.