Not A Kiss

Emily Jane and me sharing a cigarette.

Not a kiss. Not a kiss. Not a kiss.

Emily Jane says the flaming, circling swords

keep her out of the one place that was warm.

I lay beside her on the bare mattress,

watch her play a fantasy video game.

The boy in the game wins a princess.

In her life she won wisdom, patience, agape.

It’s dark at four in the afternoon, storm outside.

The grey is soothing and comforting; we are safe.

She plays the game, and we share silence, perfection.

Lust and tenderness as I watch the lights on her face.

Afterwards, almost six, I make us cheese sandwiches.

We drink cold glasses of milk, as the sky rumbles in anger.

She’s going to do mission work in Kentucky tomorrow, early.

I’m going too. She’ll never be mine, but I want to be like her.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s