Arynne S. Fannin
I don’t imagine kissing you.
I also don’t imagine
your arms tightening around my waist
pressing me closer to
the certainty of your chest.
And who needs the distraction
of the smell of your soap,
the salt taste of your skin?
It would be foolish to waste my time considering
the texture of your hair, so I don’t
imagine that, either.
And you would probably be surprised
at the amount of time I devote
to thinking about things that are not your smile.