The boy is beautiful, you hear your friend say.
He has a mouth worth kissing. But you bet he
kisses all the time. And in fact you are right.
The first time it seems dangerous. Like 17
year old lust. Milky. Burnt. He does not wash his hands
after he touches you, and this thrills you.
As though he is saying he wants you on him.
That no matter what, you are not dirty.
Later he will say that word. Growl it. Make you feel it.
And the kisses change, over the years.
They change pace, they change places.
Sometimes you turn away from them
as desperate and wild as they are. His teeth
seem to be gnawing something out of you.
Sometimes you swallow them whole. Hungry,
needy, your body lonely even when he is there.
There have been so many moments between it all.
When patterns defy time it is hard to believe
that they will ever break. When there is want inside you
he calls you a monster, a woman.
Even now there is a smoke in his movements.
You are always lighting fire to each other.
His hands seem to know the handles of your face.
He is so steady when he touches you, though
you throw yourselves out to sea. One of you at least
must come back.