We have each been our worst ever kiss

to someone else

on a warm evening,

leaning on the boot of a car,

filling the silence with reams of words,

them asking if you’re trying to be strange.

Mine was a hard tongued boy

who I passed into the mouth of a laughing friend

during a demonstration one night of our worst ever kisses.

We slept in front rooms like baby rats

on the floor, covering the carpet.

We learnt tricks

like how to make our collarbones

as prominent as possible

and how to be interested

without being too interesting.

My friend’s hands were beautiful,

as were everyone else’s.

I looked at them when they tapped pens in maths

or painted PVA glue on their fingers.

The worst parts of ourselves

were the best parts of others, it became increasingly clear.

Our English teacher

had a keen interest in serial killers

and their motives.

He mentioned this twice.