weathered kisses

I kissed you

and paintings bloomed behind my eyes—

colors I didn’t know had names.

Poems wrote themselves into my mind,

uninvited,

certain.

The world stopped.

I thought I knew what that meant.

I didn’t.

Your lips—

soft as a cloud,

something I’d never touched before

and now can’t imagine not reaching for.

When we kissed,

a quiet buzz ran through me,

like my body finally remembered

how to rest.

I never knew peace like that.

Never knew what it felt like

to exist without bracing myself.

I wish I could kiss you again.

I wish I could bottle your mouth,

uncork it on lonely nights,

press it gently over my lips

until the ache softened.

Tonight,

my lips are lonely.

And I want you.