Peculiarity
People these days simply don't appreciate beauty. Everything is so sterilized and ritualized; attraction is criticized. Pleasure is confused with vice. We are all too serious about the wrong things, and not serious enough about the things that truly matter.
I kissed a beautiful girl today. We took a walk down to the lake this afternoon during study hall. She smelled like violets and her hair was warm as we lay against the grass. Her lips tasted like cherry gloss. Her skirt was smooth and her smile sweet. I thought her freckles to be one of her most endearing features, though she complained about the effect the sun would have on her complexion with a voice as soft as silk.
I walked her home after school, pressed my hand against the small of her back, and kissed her goodbye. She said she looked forward to seeing me tomorrow. I wonder if I want to see her.
There are two new poems in my collection. One is about this afternoon, which I may post here later. The other is about an entirely different afternoon and an entirely different kiss. Its giver has apparently forgotten how it felt, sitting on the bridge with one hand in my hair, the other resting lightly against my chest and feeling my heartbeat thrumming quickly underneath.
What a foolish world, what a peculiar society, to refuse us the delights of the flesh without guilt, and the ability to love without obligation.
I kissed a beautiful girl today. We took a walk down to the lake this afternoon during study hall. She smelled like violets and her hair was warm as we lay against the grass. Her lips tasted like cherry gloss. Her skirt was smooth and her smile sweet. I thought her freckles to be one of her most endearing features, though she complained about the effect the sun would have on her complexion with a voice as soft as silk.
I walked her home after school, pressed my hand against the small of her back, and kissed her goodbye. She said she looked forward to seeing me tomorrow. I wonder if I want to see her.
There are two new poems in my collection. One is about this afternoon, which I may post here later. The other is about an entirely different afternoon and an entirely different kiss. Its giver has apparently forgotten how it felt, sitting on the bridge with one hand in my hair, the other resting lightly against my chest and feeling my heartbeat thrumming quickly underneath.
What a foolish world, what a peculiar society, to refuse us the delights of the flesh without guilt, and the ability to love without obligation.