A kiss begins with the eyes.
If yours meet across the dishware, if you
fall brain body breath into each other,
if you drink the eyes the lips the eyes
the lips, regardless of the sound
you never hear, continue to
step two: the hands.
The skin is electric, grows hot with
thought. If I press my palms against your
ribs to cool your blood, to read your
smoky outline, I will know your heart.
Step three: lean into me, let me feel
the static between our lips before we touch.
If you notice me rummaging under your ribs,
a pickpocket, an investigator, be quiet.
I have to know. Because a kiss
ends with the soul.