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Old-Fashioned Kissing

Ann Townsend

1.
Your mouth an oh of curiosity,
             your mouth’s
courteous tongue touched mine—
             the rain
                             against our faces,
the very small umbrella,
             breakage                             in the distance.

2.
But at that point
             I closed my eyes
to the distance.
             Your dangerous arm
                             fitting neatly
my waist,
             your shoulder blades           like wings.

3.
They cut things, you said,
             when I stood behind you.
So I touched you.
             Is that a sign, you said.
                             Your mouth
soft with kissing,
             my breathing           in agitation.

4.
I had to go home.
             I had to recover
my breath,
             hide it away, fasten the clasps
                             of my loosened clothing.
Oh skin, I said.
             I lifted your sweater     anyway.

5.
I backed away. We drank water
             like there was no more water.
The glass was very clean.
             A quick kiss and goodbye.
                             Then again goodbye
at the doorway.
             Then some pleasant      wrestling

6.
at your car.
             Never far from your hands
and their measured dance
             upon me,
                             still I suffer
the tug between our bodies,
             the long distance      live wire.