He kissed me quite by surprise.
I could feel his mean little smile
as he turned from the passenger window,
swung his face to mine,
a half-moon hooked in his hair.
The streetlights fluttered,
his reptile tongue
shot out like an arrow
and everywhere, I felt him—
my stomach sucked in
below a staircase of rib
rising to meet full flesh, these breasts
the colour of yesterday’s milk.
His hands, I remember, were warm,
having already trapped them
beneath denimed thighs
for the whole small-talking journey
and outside through the still window
the shadow of somebody’s childhood
ran laughing away to the moon.
Turning slyly, adder-eyed,
his palm coasted my pelvic bone,
pressed his thumbs to the hipped sockets.
Kissing me for the first time,
even the stars were nothing more
than a flicker you just got used to.