I would kiss you, even if you had
strep throat. If a sink hole opened
beneath my feet, I’d remain
kissing you. If you kissed me back,
fully relaxed into the sweet
pressure of lip to lip, I would not
break away even if a black bear
came charging toward me. I’d kiss you
after you ate anchovies. If you inexplicably
developed a cigar smoking habit, I’d kiss
you in between every inhalation. I’d
lock lips with you at a funeral. If
you had the flu, still, I’d kiss you.
In a bathroom stall, I’d kiss and kiss
and kiss and kiss you. When your lips
became thin and framed with deep lines,
your false teeth fizzing in a glass
next to your bed, I would press
my mouth to yours and offer
you a breathless, dizzying kiss,
as tentative and luscious as our first.

NaPoWriMo Day 13


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