John Trigonis gives us both darkness and light; a man, a woman, a motel room.
The Naked Kiss
It was a naked kiss shared between two nobodies
in the night, moonlight vinyl scratching
into a cracked ceiling where crystal chandeliers
once lit up letters and lovers alike.
The front door ached with every turn of
their heads, as two strangers’ tongues tried to
pick the locks into the dark mysteries of each other,
rhythmic in broken glasses on the night table.
A naked kiss and nothing more, she said.
In the fanless dark, shadows chased themselves as
stray I love yous danced broken record on
airwaves around their twisted bodies on the zombie
bed they tried desperately not to crease.
She eavesdropped for an ex’s engine revving in the lot
while used car salesman’s eyes scanned
thick curtains for the owl-shaped headlights of a ‘57
Ford Thunderbird. A naked kiss, she said…
But the way they loved away that rug-burnt evening in
Room 314 of the Horizon Motel was both warm as
childhood and Willy Loman cold, meant being caught
in a gorgon’s gaze and never blinking.
He, content with puckered lips; she, with kissing stone.
Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.
Like The Good Men Project on Facebook
Photo by Philip Ullman / Flickr