Tag Archives: kiss

Fires

 

My boots were muddy
from our walk in the woods
and my hands were cold
on that February afternoon
bright with cumulus clouds
demanding their share of the sky
and below their gaze
we stood face to face
with bashful smiles
and you took my hands
in yours and refused to let me
burrow under your layers
to get to your warm belly
which was beginning to laugh
at how good it was
to be alive in that moment
and then you kissed me
and drove me to your house
where you made a real fire
and together we made one too
and the weight of nothing but you
was upon me and I have never
been so naked or felt so clean.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-13-17

Painting by A.J. Casson, “Algoma” 1929

 

Love, Declined

It truly didn’t matter
how happy we were
sitting on that fallen oak
covered with snow
talking about the things
we’d do come spring
or how perfectly content
you seemed
pinned to the tulip tree
which helped you stand
as I kissed you for the
thousandth time
with no way to know
it would be the last—
all our talks and laughter
and comfortable silences
weren’t right enough
for those words
you whispered in my ear
to mean what I thought
they would mean
when I wanted to know
if we could be more
than just a foolish wish
that wouldn’t come true.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-31-17

 
 

 

 

Waiting

I float into the night
anticipating
how you will feel
tomorrow
when there is nothing
between us
but warm water
and skin so lonely
we will need
to cover each other
with tenderness
to help ease
the exit wound
that will follow us home
after we pick up
our blankets
from the forest floor
and kiss goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-25-17

“Sun Shield” Andrew Wyeth, Watercolor 1982

Hesitation

It’s noble to want truth
to be the order of the day
when your heart has gone a little mad
over someone new—
but it might be best to keep it to yourself
for a while, instead of confessing
every feeling, every meeting
(even that unexpected kiss)
you weren’t supposed to have—
because time is what you need
to make sure you won’t be giving up
one mediocrity for another—
and so maybe it’s merciful
to omit the details of your new
and improved state of passion
until you know for sure that this novelty
is worth the cost of everything
you stand to lose.

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-16-17

“In the Orchard” by Andrew Wyeth, 1974, Watercolor

Day After

It seems right
to feel this high
and this happy
that yesterday
under the trees
I had him with me
in my arms
and on my lips—
and his hands
could feel
how much my body
loves him—
and for one glorious
hour everything else
in the world
disappeared—
even the fact
that we both
had to go home
to others
holding our new secret—
unsure how
the things we did
could possibly
be wrong.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-13-17

Orbital Resonance

The party was delicious
with the smell of chocolate
and wine
and the people on the list
were beautiful
and dressed as if this
were the last day of the year
to advertise their singularity
and there were those little
clusters of stars
smiling and talking
and drinking too much
to notice that there were two
people in separate orbits
who couldn’t quite
manage to drift together
as nonchalantly and silently
as the two hands on
the midnight clock—
the ones that everyone watches
and waits for as if only their union
can grant permission
to cheer for the imaginary shift
into some uncharted galaxy
where maybe
just maybe
the candlelit atmosphere
of the back bedroom
where you go to retrieve your coat
from the heap of others
will become for an instant
populated with that other
lost planet
offering you a temporary gravity
in his elliptical arms
and what you both know
must be the first, last
and only kiss
of this or any other year.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
1-1-14

Something

To say that nothing happened
is true—if by nothing you mean
laying down naked
or kissing or holding hands.
We didn’t lay down naked
or kiss or hold hands—
but what about the walk we took
around the lake
not far from the party?
The dirt trail was shadowed with pines,
tall and indifferent to the way
our eyes fell into shyness as we spoke.
So no.  Nothing happened
that would be a betrayal
or a crime against your trust
even though we briefly touched
when he helped me cross a log
that bridged a glasswater creek
so we could examine the full moon
from a treeless clearing.
But we did feel the razor wire
of restraint as we stood, shivering
and silent in the field of possibilities
where he didn’t put his lips to mine
even though I fear I might have let him
if he hadn’t reminded me
with sensible regret
that we both have breakable hearts
waiting back home—
trusting that nothing would happen
even though we wanted it to.

 

DeMaris
10-2-14