Kissing Boys: a Juxtaposition
i could list every reason the kisses were shit
your lips were sour but i stuck around because your eyes were sweet (i can’t seem to remember what color they are). your little habits made me feel fuzzy on Thanksgiving night (it was your 17th birthday and i was cold to you) your bigger habits made me want to write bad poetry. i remember your lips were too wet and you were too tall to be comfortable (but of course i pretended otherwise) your October kisses kept me in bed and i was over the moon; your February kisses, however, turned distant (your everything seemed to distance, and i should have tried harder). you would pull away too soon (i was stupid to think December could last) and while his kisses keep me in bed, too, i’ve never wanted to write poems about them (because where he tastes like nicotine and bad movies, you remind me of fucking in a car on a rainy Tuesday evening)