Mason Jar of Long-Lost Kisses
Poetry Sunday
Firefly mason jar
alight and abuzz
with my collection
of moon kisses.
Warm summer
mist kisses, park bench
kisses, stoned kisses
beer kisses, tender kisses
lingering kisses…
Meandering down
Kissing Lane.
Naïve at eighteen,
my first kiss was with
a disco raver hyped up
kiss killer
brute bruising
hickey french fry
mono college guy.
Moved on to new kisses.
Surely there was better
kissing. Tender waves
of electric connection.
Yes.
Trysts and
moonlight kisses.
My mason jar brims
over with long-lost
delectable tongue kisses.
Remember
back in the early 2000s
when we
sat on the tailgate
of your red truck
and looked up at
the yellow moon?
Remember the feeling
of soft, bright eager kisses?
Pink Floyd serenading
us from your speakers
and our tongues dancing
in a kiss?
That’s the kind of kiss
my mason jar keeps.
Only the memorable
good kisses
held together with
tender threads
of gossamer winged
innocence and meaning
in my mason jar,
abuzz and alight with kisses.
Related Read — A 4-minute poetic prose memory of coming of age in the 1990s.
