{Poetry}: Day Sixteen: Your First Kiss

Mouth ensnared in metal,
lips wrapped around my own.
We embraced as
women on the television set
wavered in and out of focus.

His mouth tasted like fish sticks.
It was a Friday, you see,
and we were Catholic high schoolers
on a leather couch in my parents’ basement.

My mouth tasted like cream soda,
the pink kind with carbonation.
He was my first boyfriend.
His skin was suspiciously soft,
and his eyes-warm brown.

We kissed under the glow of
a television flooded with static.
He told me I was a great kisser,
and had I done this before?

I watched television shows
where boy meets girl
and girl flirts.
I watched television shows
where they kiss,
and it’s supposed to feel like magic.

I remember telling him
that this wasn’t an excuse to grab my ass
or to tell people I let him kiss me.

I wasn’t that charmed,
and it certainly didn’t feel like magic.

But we were Catholic high schoolers
on a leather couch in my parents’ basement.

-L.G.

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