I wish I could put a remote on my keys that could unlock your heart before I even get in the front doorMature

When I was thirteen, I discovered what it was like
to taste love on my back of my tongue and it was
the after-scent of your cologne that hung there.
The flavor didn’t wash out until I was punch-drunk
from kissing strangers at parties my mother 
would never have let me go to, if she’d known.

The next time I tasted love was the summer I turned fifteen
and it was hollowed and dull, it didn’t have the stamina
I remembered, and I thought, ‘second love is just an echo.’
Sometimes I still taste it, like that almost-alcohol flavor
wedged behind your teeth when you’re hungover, and I think,
‘if I never let myself do that again, it will be too soon.’

My third taste of love was like the first time I ever tried kiwi.
I had never imagined that something could encompass so much
and be so bright and alive. I’m still waiting for the tang to fade.

The End

32 comments about this poem Feed