Lonnie Hicks

Freshman - 614 Points (www.lonniehicks.com / Chicago Ill)

The Kiss - Poem by Lonnie Hicks

She slipped into her smiling stance
so easily.

Her lips parted showing her teeth
alabaster white and gleaming

as she sat on the couch
in dim light
bathing in the self-confidence-ness

women sometimes have that says

'whatever happens in this encounter

with him

it

will not matter

and will be only a ripple made by a rock thrown in the pond

with no consequence

because in her dry dock, she was thinking,

her emotional ship

had already sailed;

while she had only to move slightly or whisper-speak

and my dingy boat of disappointment and rejection would start to sink

as sure as white teeth part

and then

clamp down swallowing.


Transfixed at her mouth's opening

I only too late realized that alabaster,

shiny smiles

form the emotional bite

where something is bit off

and then swallowed down.

One sided complacency

married to desperate attraction

ends badlly

if one of the party

is blinded by bright smiling teeth

which rise in the darkened night

offering the promise of a kiss

but delivering only the fatal bites

the cat delivers

to the hypnotized mouse.

Such to me is irrestible.


Danger's erotic quiverings

place my hand in fire

to see how close heat can be

without singeing the soul

which lingers close by

but not too close

and I fix my gaze on that oraficed opened mouth

and my butter-fly breathing

lent to the event

one soft breath

rising to meet those panting lips

like the sirens offering

but never giving;

promising neither solice or need fulfilled;

silently demanding that she cross my

river Styx.

I watch as she stiffens from the shock

realizing, she herself, had been denied

what she had always felt

was her birth-right;

a kiss proffered; a kiss received,

but here for the first time

she experienced denial

a kiss in abeyance

close but willfully

withheld;

coming, but never came;

siren songs

which are near but stay outside

the closing circle;

out of reach

leaving her mouth

dry and bereft;

stunned that the moth

could come so close yet

resist the flame;

eyes now wide

she stares at me

seeking soul-level knowledge

of how and who could approach her crimson mouth

and yet resist..

She stared at my lips hovering.

I said

'Come close

step over the line more than halfway;

I need the surrender

of your mouth to mine

and in doing so

know you have abandoned that complaency

which shrouds you.

Don't hesitate, or it will be too late

your mouth is mine

even if we never touch

because it is the on-coming need

I see in its quivering, hesitancy

and your breathing

that tells me you are done;

warmth exhudes

and retreats;

I see your breasts rising

determinedly seeking

what had been denied;

yet the denial act

ignites both our needings

now mixed with curiosity

engorged lips, and

erstwhile somunamulant

needs.

At the marker point it is now

for each of us advance or retreat;

two breathings now indistinguishable;

pouty mouth

and hungry lips

meet

and meld;

fire-breathing

soul-fusing

tremblings.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 6, 2010

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 8, 2010


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