Whenever I kiss her, I always hear

Hey girl,

kiss her again,

from some hot rushed heavy hush.

At night when the cups

are being passed around to tongues

already wet, we are called to perform

like monkeys bashing symbols.

I had my first

kiss at summer camp,

not in a giggle gang game

of truth or dare, dare you to zip

up and shut up and stick your

dick sick where the sun don’t shine.

It was her black hair wreathed

by gentle glimmering green hands,

reaching low to brush her blushed

cheeks of gold. I moved to her

and she to still and I tasted the wind.

I will kiss her.

I will taste a new wind and the green

hands from above will applaud

and I -

I will not hear you.