First Kiss

I thank God for sending Jonathan

to youth group

just for me.

Good-looking and funny

and funny-looking and good,

he loves boring beige computers even more

than Samantha,

can solve any Rubik’s Cube

even the mini-necklace one I wear.

Beeps every hour from his

digital Casio calculator watch.

Like a sexy

Matthew Broderick in WarGames

and he is one of the rare boys

taller than me.

Based on the way acidic juices

flood my body when he’s around,

I can only assume

Jonathan is exactly my type.

He draws me clever comics, and I

write him funny letters in pink ink

on loose-leaf folded into tight footballs.

We hold hands when

parents and the pastor

aren’t looking. I can’t control

my blushing, and we are almost immediately

an official “going together” couple.

After an acoustic guitar praise circle

in our youth leader’s backyard,

we sneak into the autumn woods.

Walking hand in hand, both knowing

we’re on a mission to kiss.

An event we have

negotiated at length

via human telephone

through his best friend

and Samantha.

Dry leaves crunch under our feet,

the scent of the pines surrounds us like incense,

as sweat delicately drips

from my pits.

We stop and face each other

at the perfect instant . . . surprised

by the intimacy that surges.

My every cell is conscious of

the closeness of our bodies,

soft lips fall open, and I

know him better, more fully

connected on a deeper

plane that suddenly exists.

Nothing else matters.

I allow myself to fall fully,

and it tastes solid and pure and free . . .

except my elbows

glued down to hide sweaty pits,

the sharp scrape of metal, as braces bump,

and holding my breath

so I don’t puff warm nose air

onto Jonathan’s cheek.