• It was the kind of kiss that smelled of the staticy air before a rainstorm that you love.

    Soft like the marshmallows we roast over the stove at night,

    quiet like the lullabies you sing me when nightmares scare me out of sleep,

    and sweet like the cantaloupes we eat in the middle of summer.



    It should have been my first.

    At least you'll be my last.