Katrina Kaye

Kiss my cheek,
a stolen stroke.
The one on the lips,
an enticing request.

I know well the metallic
taste of boundaries.
This mouth,
often denied its hunger.

But tonight,
I am too drunk,
too enamored.
I want to give you a thimble:
memento of me.
Press it in your hand
till it marks your skin.
A subtle indentation,
a tangible reminder,
like the leather I wear
around my ankle,
of the kiss I’ve given.

We could slink into bed,
feel tongue, teeth, tickle.
Your hand on my spine,
salty sweat on navel,
thumb to hip bone.

Or we can just lay beside each other,
my arm draped across your body.
Fingertips graze jawbone,
lips skim fine hairs on shoulder.
We can pretend we are lovers.

Either way,
you will not see me in the morning.
I would like the night to be,
and although it would be sweet,
to retongue last goodbyes
and reform promises,

some revisions aren’t meant to be made.
Some words shouldn’t be taken back.

“Enamored” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and Connotation Press (2013).