Red Neck

“A kiss has nothing to do with sex.” – From the poem, “Bulimia,” in Queen For a Day: Selected and New Poems (Pitt Poetry Series) by Denise Duhamel.

Red Neck

I heard a kiss has nothing to do with sex.
I couldn’t believe my ears,
Not that I do that much, as I stretch my neck

To hear your sweet nothings, lip syncing neck
To neck. A grip under your chin, a tear
Surprises me, a periodic reality check

Incumbent on a sweet vicious delicious ache,
First shock of fine hair between teeth, up for air,
Up for hips. A fan of hands, soothing thigh aches --

Promises to visit the gym. Exercise eases the cheeks,
Of face and ass. I’m surprised I’ve tangled your hair,
Not so shocked, later, when a bleeding tear stretched

You open. I gasp, “How many fingers?” Shriek
A whisper when we’re scared, liner combed out where
We couldn’t imagine we’d bear. Narcissistic, do I check

On you -- or, me? I begin to check out, next
I know, you’re tapping my cheeks, fear
At my passing out. I open my eyes, hear, “Hey, sex-

Y! “ I’ve come to know when I reach my height, check
-ers and dots sprinkle my eyes, and where
I’m most excited to do, see, be done, your red red neck.

Mel