First Kiss

It wasn’t like
the anticipation
of excited gold bubbles bounding to burst
from the celebratory champagne bottle,
nor like
the expectation of needle moving
to adjoining groove in the post-song silence.

It wasn’t like
the careful piecing of brittle, white hairs into
a perfectly-polished style,
nor like
the graceful descent of a dancer
as her pink slippers settle
from air to sturdy stage.

It wasn’t like
the tingling of hot, sunburned skin as it
enters a cloud of cool fog at next day’s dawn,
nor like
the gentle contra-winds of bike riding
which whistle softly against your gums and
encourage you to maintain that joyful mien.

It wasn’t like the jittery electrification
of two buzzing poles
as their invisible force fields replicate negative and positives,
nor like
the iconic stance of miniature wedding cake toppers
whose plastic happiness symbolizes forever.

It wasn’t with the gracefully angled chin
of Audrey Hepburn, nor with
the passionate grasp
of the handsome Humphrey Bogart.

It wasn’t exactly what it was supposed to be,
but it was better than the one from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

- Brenna Wildt