When You Kiss Me

When you kiss me you get all of me,
the face, the mouth, the fingers.
You get the years of being broken by love.
The irreconcilable ache of this body, alone,
the unshackled heave of its engineering,
the low notes of want.
You get the breath still sour from last night’s dinner,
the vitamin deficiency,
the easy bruising,
this map of obsidian veins
embroidered down the backs of my calves.
My grandmother’s veins,
passed down.
You get the license to touch me there,
and there,
and there.
Not there.
Not yet.
Just.
Wait.
The fear of guns
and turbulence
and the green clouds that gather chemically
on the horizon
before becoming a tornado
and church
and holes
and frogs.
You get my lips and tongue and throat.
Drive trains of anger,
cylinders of yes,
giving and receiving
along with you,
working urgently
toward linguistics.
I have something important to tell you.
My desire had six names
before you.

Christy Prahl is a philanthropy professional, foraging enthusiast, and occasional insomniac. Her past, current, and future publications include The Bangalore Review, Peatsmoke, Boston Literary Magazine, High Shelf, Blue Mountain Review, Twyckenham Notes, and others. She is also the editor of the literary compendium A Construction of Cranes (Plastic Flame Press, 2020). She splits her time between Chicago and rural Michigan with her husband and plain brown dog.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to When You Kiss Me

  1. Reblogged this on So Many Words… and commented:
    Poem of the day.
    I love this…

  2. Christy says:

    Thanks so much for your support, Wayne!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.