TRYING TO SLEEP AFTER THE KISS.

A GIRL TRIES TO SLEEP AFTER A KISS.

Elaine is ready for bed,
nightgown, flowery,
blue, covers from wrists
to ankles. Warming against

the room's chill. She looks
at herself in the mirror. Her
reflection peers back. Eyes
stare, mouth closed. Her

sister sleeps in the other bed,
sounds away in dreamland.
She casts a look at her in
the mirror, head visible, hair,

shoulders blanket covered.
She said nothing to others
about the boy John at school
and the lunchtime kiss, said

nothing over dinner a few
hours ago, she sat and
listened and hoped no one
asked her a question. None did.

Her sister smirked about
Elaine hugging the pillow
on her bed before dinner,
but nothing was said just

looks and raised eyebrows.
Every time she put the fork
to her lips, during the meal,
she thought of him and him

kissing her. Lips to lips.
Him holding her arm.
Steadying, keeping her
standing. First time kiss,

no one else. Not likely to be,
she thinks, wondering what
made him kiss her, then
and there. What about

the next day at school?
Will he kiss her again?
Was it a mistake? A joke?
She has brushed her teeth,

brushed aspects of him
away, some small particles
of him in the kiss on lips,
brushed away, down

the sink. She looks
frumpish; the glasses
make her look larger,
her nose seems flatter

as if squashed. She takes
them off, lays them
on the dressing table.
Now she can only see

a blurry shape. She gets
up, and turns out the light,
and gets into bed, pulls
the blankets up to her

chin and lays there in
the semi-dark, wondering
about the next day, what
he will say or do or want

to do or say. In the semi-dark
she can see the outline
of her sister sleeping.
Sleep sounds, breathing,

shadows on the wall from
the moon's touch and go.
She imagines him holding
her, his hand on her arm,

not tight or gripping just
holding, then the kiss.
Lips just touching, not
pushing or pressing, but

softly touching, snowflake
touching, feather falling
touching. She makes a
gentle lips kissing sound.

It echoes slightly around
the room. She licks her lips.
Lips licked, lips kissing.
It seemed her body had

expected it, even if she
hadn't, the movement of
heart, and sensation of
letting go, as if she'd wet

herself, as if something
had opened her up and
left her wide open so that
all and everything could

enter for that moment of
the kiss. She wanted that
again. Wanted it back.
The feelings, the simple

undoneness, abandonment
of self and embrace of
another. Words seem to
escape from her mouth

in the semi-dark; thoughts
run riot; anarchy runs
through veins and arteries.
She bites her tongue, keeps

it still. She senses her fingers
run down her leg, back up
and down again. Would he
have done that? Would he?

He kisses; he holds. Past
tense. Kissed. Held. When
he kissed her, her breasts
tingled. Tingled like small

bells in a draught. She sighs.
Licks her lips. She embraces
her body, her fingers touch
her spine. He said something

about butterflies or was it birds?
She can't remember now.
Just remembers him kissing.
Who kisses whom? Does he

kiss her or does she kiss him?
Or does neither kiss again
and leave it at that. A mistake.
A joke. Seemed real, she thinks,

turning over, pulling the blanket
tighter, pretending its he pulling
and tucking her in and kissing
her cheek and saying sleep well.

He had said nothing to her on
the school bus home. He sat on
one side of the bus and she sat
on the other. Neither talked

or looked(although she did
now and then, just to make sure).
He sat there in his seat, gazing
out the window, as if she'd not

got on and was sitting not far
from him. A mistake. No more
kisses. Just the one lone kiss.
When he held her to kiss, he

held her close. Pressing against
her, gently, not hard or pressing,
not that sort of thing. Had his
hand touched her back? she

can't recall. Just there, she says,
feeling with her own fingers,
where he may have touched.
She presses. There, yes, there.

Hard to imagine. So much going
on in her brain at the time, so
much information zipping
through her nerves, sensations

alive and on fire. She must sleep.
Must sleep. All  tomorrow's
happenings must wait and see.
She shuts her eyes. Breathes in
deep. Time for rest, time for sleep.