That first kiss was scary.

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours
so I was drying off at your place
while your family was conveniently
out for the day
as we listened to music
in your room
with the door open.

We talked about things
that didn’t matter
and other things that did.
A lot of the details are lost
within your historic walls.

You made us hot chocolate
which you said
you learned from your mom
– but you couldn’t do
as well as her
but I said was delicious
and I wasn’t lying:
it was the best hot chocolate
I’d ever had;
warm and sweet
and soft and funny.
I don’t think I’d ever loved hot chocolate
as much as I did that stormy day,
though I’m sure your mom’s was nice
too.

I said that
or something like it
as I lay across your floor
and you lay perpendicular
and you leaned in
and seemed to know what to do
like you’d been to the store before
and knew what you wanted
and went down the right aisle
right away
to get it
and I wish I knew how to do that
because I’d been
window shopping for a while
looking for a way to kiss you
for a month
but could never find the time
or the way
or the nerve.

But you had no problem with it
and before I knew it I had closed my eyes
and then the hot chocolate
delicious as it was,
was not the best thing I’d tasted
all day.

It was a scary kiss
though it wasn’t me who dared
it was you
because I couldn’t imagine why someone like you
would be with me at all
that wet day
or any of the others that followed
until
eventually
you came to agree
and you shopped at a different store
and the kissing stopped.

But before that
– before the end –
and the glorious middle
all of which was filled with fear
and nerves
and joy and pain
and sunshine and…
there was that first kiss
which was wonderful
and I never really thanked you for it
not enough
and I guess
that’s all
I want to say.