Kiss.

She cupped her foot around the doorknob, left 
leg bent almost right into her body, 
the face covered, a darkened rag curtain
of faded hair, the hands knotted, fingers 
a moving mass, entangled, curled around
the index overlapping the index and thumb,
the ringfinger let go then back, clutching 
a little wrist then palm, on, then let go 
the bare foot cupping the knob the other 
curled tight to the body, not so much curled
as cradled into the thigh, one darker corner
of the room, empty cold sucking life open, 
two bodies still warm, the face hid behind 
an ever rag faded curtain hairline
shielding the face the hand holds

     here I am 

feel the warm hands still massing clutched in fists, 
the fingers crisscross loosen then tighten stiff 
convulsing, the foot yet cupped around the knob,
the shoulder against the door the hand, the right,
splayed upward reaching for the frame, all locked
in position, the left leg cradled still,  
maybe the slightest rocking back but still, 
the head leaned against a corner, the left 
arm is extended towards and the left arm 
is reaching.  Opposite body rocking back 
violently, clutching index ringfinger 
let go then back, the middle fingers hooked 
and no contact but, then back again, clutching 
all digits hooked in open cold sucking 
life open, and the russet eyes, only
an iris sliver and black, the other eyes 
hidden, drawn, tactile of the grasping still, 
the faces close in, nearly touching, one
arm bent so only the distance of one 
arm separates the faces, the knuckles 
touch the chest of  the one, the falling strands
of hair over the forearm now.  See the 
warm and the ragged curtain, the index curled
over the hand, the thumbs jagged, the palms 
in contact, digit to wrist. The lips red.

by josh buermann © 1998