Of All Your Kisses

Kissed by Fire

Of All Your Kisses

Of all your kisses
Some I forget
For having rushed them
In Hoxton’s drunkenness.

Social lubrication
A smoke and a beer
Forgetting the approach
Just digging in fierce.

The first was wet at 15
The next accidental at 20.
Two memorable there
And a few escaping memory.

When “Accidental at 20”
Got intentional on our date one evening
I shoved his hand down my pants

Light and soft’ll do it…
Like when I was 35.
The best of all kisses, pressed in firmness
A chin jut following nose touches.


That didn’t last.
Union got sexless.
Hottest guy around
But I was too much wildness.

Fastforward years later
And a surprise British pucker over a poppy.
If we kissed that night in Jesmond
I’d be hard pressed to recall, darling.

Another Hoovered my face
There was no method in the madness.
The last in kitchen was daring, got in tongue
I got off on touching your hardness.

And if I be worried
To be left dead and lonely
I’ve only to return to T—y.
And feel like I am home again.

But I wouldn’t stay.
So where does my mouth go?

I was always with beer on a first kiss.
And to the last one who braved it: how was it?
“I could have kissed you better,” he said.
But in my fire, I injure easy, I was injured…

And I left.

But at least, my dear, I remembered it.
The first was your bold move,
The last … I could not care less.

Sylvie Hill 2017