i keep bumping things
like couches with my little toes
desk corners with my thighs
and fingers with my car door
little owies
ow
ow
owies that make not a sound
or a whimper
until
i am alone in bed
and then they scream for a
kiss from a
beloved one
owie
i have an owie
a kiss will make it better
or perhaps butter
as my niece explained when i asked why my father her grandpa was
rubbing butter into her head owie after a fall on the slippery ground
cos butter makes it better she said in wide eyed seriousness
my father
nodding his head in sage agreeance
with a twinkle in his eye
well it wont make it worse
and kisses never make it worse
though perhaps it is possible to drown in kisses too many and too wet
though i have never heard it done
perhaps you could contract a disease from which you die
a bad pashing flu?
Lips too tight and too taut, hardened by the wind and too much self sorrow
could cut
i suppose
and if you miss
your kiss
and miss your chance
of romance
of moments of true belov-ed happiness
now that would hurt
and i am glad
i haven't missed out on you
though i will need to wait my turn
to see you on the day after tomorrow
when my owies have healed themselves
and you can use your kisses for other things.
