Then she wiped the glossy gunk off her mouth and leaned in to press those pink tulips against my rigid mouth. The first kiss was awful. She pulled back to stare at my expression and I knew that I was giving it away that I was horrified. I was terrified of what rushed movement might do to my fragile sanity. I tried again. I kissed her and tried to mean it this time. But in the make believe, I was reminded of all the old minutes that I did mean it. So I kissed her some more. This time with tenderness on the neck. Right next to the thick vein strung tightly into her shoulder, and I let my mouth open this time; to let in whatever poison she might perspire. I wanted to get knocked over. Her shoulders dropped and her hands found the back of my neck under my ponytail, where they used to rest.
I remembered why I loved her. I remember how mild her voice and words were was when we first met. I remembered that I had never felt affection as unmotivated or sweet as hers. Other people who I had been with since have learned how to give away their warmth, either it was beaten in or tamed like their love was a gentle circus animal. Her kissing felt like seedlings poking their thin green necks out of the soil for the first time (you want to protect them because of the courage it takes, being that flimsy in the wind). I wrapped my arms around her tightly and felt the heaviness of her chest press down on my sternum. Her soft belly get hard when compressed against my ribs. One of her knees hung in between my legs, widening my stance. I liked the tension of her jeans stretching on the skin, and the way the deninem went white around the knee.
Finally my anger and my fear and wishing began to throb in and out, like allowing the blood to flow into the legs after sitting on them for too long. It ached, and it stung, but I felt more space inside me to breathe into. I felt my teeth loosen their grips from their gums. My toes spread wide in their shoes, the blood running everywhere.
She wasn’t the reason I went to crazy.
As I was squeezing her I was forgiving us for how reckless we were trying to scratch open the saran wrap that was suffocating our lives, keeping them too close to unbearable elements. Her hair smelled like product and her skin smelled like baby powder, just the way I remembered. The long multi-colored strands of her hair like a a bamboo shade, swiped back and forth over my hands and forearms; the ends were cool and felt like the inside of a shell. By now she was kissing my ears and my neck and my brow, kissing the cut-in before my mouth under my nose. Letting her tongue slip across my mouth, but not vulgarly but with wanting and too much waiting in between. Her neck would collapse ever few seconds allowing her forehead to slam into my shoulder. She liked it when I tightened my elbows around her waist. Then her body in its entirety released and its gravity sunk her to the bed, pulling me down with her. The kissing got wider. I filled my hands with her inflamed chest and felt their shape swell up on one side and deflate on the other. I felt her forehead heat up and dew.
Suddenly I was back when I was 19 and she was 15. We were walking across the border into Tijuana. She took me to clubs snorted coke, and drank too much. She would cuss men out in Spanish and hold my hand in the streets so everyone could see. We found dark corners on the dance floor and she pressed her face into mine. It was summer, and the rooms were humid and dusty. She kissed me against the wall with her hand pressed up against the red paint. Biting my lip and pressing the big metal button of her jeans into me. Holding the sweaty back of my shirt all balled up in fists. Her hunger made me feel small and helpless. i loved it.
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