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Why does the first kiss, sweat-salty and sweet,
Become the epitome, the one that makes
Others seem like ersatz recreations
Of abandon, of lingering taste?
And who among us hasn't given thought
To all the ones that came after, to those
Whose resonances rung like simple echoes;
Why does the first always outlive the rest?
A kiss is electric when lips collide,
Unsure of response, tentative until
Tongues intertwine in vermicular wreathes.
They're all special, naturally, all splendid,
But not at all of the same voltage thrill
As that first lasting melding of new mouths.
© 1998 by J. M. Pressley