Small Talk

My chiffon floated your irises;
Your raised glances were gifts to
a well of emotions kicking and
shoving to provide space. This
dress almost couldn’t contain
the breath I had imprisoned,
just so my eyes could escape
their corners to meet yours
tracing frills and sewn-in flowers
along my curvature. But it was
laughter we blossomed into –
The fruits of which an excuse
for us to face each other.
Your name clumsy on my ears
but those blue eyes were how I
recalled a cloudy day. I dared to wish
you meant ‘french kissing’ not as
‘the french way of kissing
as a form of greeting’
after we shook hands, so I
diverted my attention to your
dress pockets and their rarity
since it was impossible to find
my tongue cuddling against the
warmth of yours, anyway. Before
we parted at last I was an oriental
embracing western customs –
Your left on my right, vice versa
Until bold lips added blush to
my cheeks, softer than my brushes,
and I returned the favor, memorizing.

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