First kiss

some random thing I wrote about my first kiss.

Visages, illuminated by a stark moon, dancing in muted light. Hands graze. Fingers Meld. Romance at its finest in the back of a car. I’m laying next to a boy, sheepish kid, decked in a band shirt and holed jeans and flaxen hair and swamp eyes. He’s talking about nothing, and damn it, can’t he see my lust? Can’t he feel that buzz, my drunken slop of a person I’ve turned? Those lips, red as crabs, lilting with his tenor voice. Waiting. Impatient. Waiting. Lull. What’s that? A cricket? Oh! Commence slurping and crackling and onomatopoeia. It’s the lick of a lifetime. Tasted like pomegranate.