The Kiss by Jennifer Barizo

The Kiss

by Jennifer Barizo

Miles grow, and it's as fresh as yesterday's peach

picked somewhere in Mexico. I do think they

grow them there. Either there or Canda. The Niagara

valley. Somewhere far. But in my mouth it's

the crowing moment of my summer, the taste of

many touches, night after might. I have erased them

all in favor of that afternoon with you, with only

myself to trust.

Miles grow, and you have nothing of mine. From

all your journeys, here and there - your teeth

in my arm, your tongue in my ear, you bring

nothing with you. But that kiss you never had,

isn't that what reminds you? Wasn't it just

yesterday? That grey day. From the window

a sky smoke-grey and buildings shale-grey

and clouds dust-grey and full of rain. Kiss me, you said,

your lips, here (you pointed to your own) on mine.

Does it matter that once we

were young? I don't know

where my heart has gone. With that

kiss I never have you? Age has

greyed me, strand by strand,

skin like sand - but once, we were happy,

That grey day - don't you see? We were

the momentary green - fresh as

every summer's harvest. Your skin, this peach,

beneath my tongue.