but wait! there's more! poems!

If a tongue kiss is an olive colored lake fish still on the hook and I catch it:

 

Then I must be slow and comfortable, clasping around it from the top down

If I flinch, I must be sure not to upset anything—tongue in cheek, dignity

And when licked across bottom lip, I must fight the urge to coil away, must feel output wave over me like tranquil lake water rustled, but unchanged by motorboat wake

Remember a kiss can be dry and desperate, a gasp through gills straining to stay open when there’s drought where there should be water to let in

And a kiss can convulse: a dying, caught kiss will offset its own balance in order to land on solid ground and escape the catch of its angler

In this moment, a kiss might backflip momentum into wind in between sigh-like landings onto parched spaces that don’t upkeep aquatic—bone-dry, wooden decks or dank, beige pontoon boat carpets

But if the fish sets free, plunges, and swims into fluidity with a flop of the water’s edge

then the tongue can become, under, submerged in its own comfort, the environment of its intension, afloat in freedom from and return to tendency