My finger plucks
a tune from a
blue Monday
morning.

To M.

See, I should have kissed you.

I should have kissed you when I had the chance to. Should have pulled you closer, stood on my tiptoes, my hand tightly clutching your neck, and kissed you full on the mouth. Should have run my fingers through your spiky hair, smiling as your arms closed around me.

I should have found you, the taste of tiramisu still on my lips, and I should have kissed you, giving you a taste of the happiness in a box that you'd handed me so timidly.

Your voice still rings loud and clear in my head, I hear it when I read your messages, that distinctive accent, eyebrows raised, cheekbones moving. And that smile, so sly and cunning, your lips slightly upturned. I *should have kissed those lips when I had the chance to do so. Then and there, among tears and sporadic, almost desperate hugs, I should have kissed you. When you held on to me for just a little longer, your hug tight, your hands running along my back, I should have traced your lips with mine. I should have sealed that promise with a kiss.


"You never see a person only once in a lifetime," you whispered in my ear, your breath tickling me. "That's a promise," I choked on tears, "You hear me, it's a promise."


I should have kissed you; instead, I hugged you once again as you held me tightly and rubbed my back. I should have just reached out. Fate or whatever mystical force there is ******* us up pretty badly. If only I'd met you earlier. If only I'd known you before I got mixed up with the wrong person. I wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd done a lot of things differently. My heart drops in my stomach every time you say you miss me. Your voice will fade away. I won't be able to conjure up your face without looking at pictures, and all your familiar features will be blurred by time and memory. The ephemeral imprint of your skin against mine will soon be gone forever. My heart will grow cold.


The taste of tiramisu will linger, though. Always in the back of my mind, the unanswered question of what it would be like to taste it from your lips. Have tiramisu some time. I hope it tastes like me. You never see a person only once in a lifetime, but perhaps you only have one chance to kiss.

I should have kissed you.

she brings me pancakes and lights me a cigarette
my ***** are cement and icicles form on my toes

she opens the curtain to a dying dove on the balcony
the banks are closed and the stock market has crashed

the periscope lens, so lucidly balanced, has fallen
irreparably into the crypt of a dream

i take a bite of an apple and stare into the mid-morning sun
after bagging the bird, she drapes herself across my chest

she is worshiped like a cradle, or a gravestone in a thunder storm
in her ecstasies, a prism, a poem fits like a glove

as the sunlight warms her ******* she heaves remnants
of last night's whiskey into my adam's apple and it burns me

the words she struck me with still sting in my ears
her fingerprints remain on my back and my bathroom mirror

i remember taking morning impulse beach trips with william
to the white sand on the right hand coast of old florida
wearing sunglasses on our eyes
and our hearts in our front shirt pockets
jesus, must have been twenty ten because
i was too young to drink in bars
and he couldn't drive
the windows were down and we were catching
intense sun on the opposite sides of our faces
listening to a playlist of songs we wanted played at our funerals
swore we'd be there for each other forever
as we choked down stolen purple vitamin waters
trying to smoke a divine bowl while discussing
the advantages of miller high lifes over
pabst blue ribbons for light beach drinking with
two tabs each on our tongues or buried in our cheek-meat
as we crossed that lion's bridge
dreaming we'd drift off into that cloudless blue sea-sky

i remember falling in love
for what must have been the first time
half drunk on champagne and ojay
blasted out and overdosing on sunlight
sitting pretty on the carpet floor with jennifer
with our legs tangled together
whispering secrets playing with shiny trinkets
and small meaningful totems
while the other boys laughed
and smoked on the balcony

i'm suppposed to be writing the world's greatest poem
but i get distracted by fractal ocean memories
because i'm already twenty-five and nowhere special
we've both sobered up by now i guess but i
saw ol' bill just the other day and we still
find time to laugh and sing to each other over tacos
he'll be married soon and i've learned finally that it takes
more than ******* someone to keep my bones warm
we've gotten our **** together so to speak but seperately
i'm still getting used to revealing myself to myself
figuring out how to be honest with the little boy in the mirror
how to be in love with my big nose
and that i'm really only twenty four