Poetry

“When A Man Hasn’t Been Kissed” – Jeffrey McDaniel

When I haven’t been kissed in a long time,

I walk behind well-dressed women

on cold, December mornings and shovel

the steamy exhalations pluming from their lips

down my throat with both hands, hoping

a single molecule will cling to my lungs.

When I haven’t been kissed in a long time,Β 

I sneak into the ladies room of a fancy restaurant,

dig into the trashcan for a napkin

where a woman checked her lipstick,

then go home, light candles, put on Barry White,

and press the napkin all over my body.

When I haven’t been kissed in a long time,

I start thinking leeches are the most romantic

creatures, cause all they want to do is kiss.Β 

If only someone invented a kinder, gentler leech,

I’d paint it bright pink and pretend

Winona Ryder’s lips crawled off her face,

up my thigh, and were sucking on my swollen bicep.

When I haven’t been kissed

in a long time, I create civil disturbances,

then insult the cops who show up,

till one of them grabs me by the collar

and hurls me up against the squad car,

so I can remember, at least for a moment,

what it’s like to be touched.

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