in the middle of kissing JennyPast wet flesh, past the mechanics of pressing one set of lips
against a second, past the yes that marries this moment, a black hole
spins you through tunnels of history, reuniting you with wounds
you can barely remember sustaining. Loss trenches your mouth then,
guts it raw, and you recognize the deep pockets of grief you’ve hidden into.
You could not have imagined the beginnings of love to be so redolent of death,
but that’s how it hits: a new universe expanding while behind it,
your last life obsolesces, papery as ashes from an old fire. The kiss,
like a gust of air, blows everything back, and saves you. It’s not a dream.
The whole room turns and opens, the hearth of your heart wiped clean.