Kiss

Also, here and there it is

misfortune

that we lose,

also, here and there

it is just lips. When I was

a kid, I would ask my mom


to tuck me

in, wrap me tight in covers,

make me into a burrito.

At times I would hold up in bed,

squeezing my body solid, similar to a board,

brain like a plume, senseless  setting the scene

to be seen.

So I could be wrapped.

So I could be kissed.

What's more, what

I miss most,

is being  made  once more.

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