in the lawn
on the shore
in the backseat of my mother’s car while she was putting on lipstick and not paying attention to me

i have kissed men and boys
lots of places
and as i get older i wonder
when is it
too many?

some are different but all have little things that are the same and which i assume make them men
like the way they touch me
and make me feel beauiful (sometimes)
while with others it is only about them and they’d kiss a rock if they thought it might
touch them back

i remember one boy in particular who had the nicest freckles
like little brown jokes that made him young even though he was
two years older that little me
with my innocence and my acting like i knew sex when i didnt
and he would whisper “i love you” and even though i haven’t trusted anyone since my parents split up i just know
he was not joking those times

some people i don’t remember kissing until i hear their name mentioned in a busy crowd and then it all comes back to me and i think on it and try to remember what i can
like where we were
and where i left my shoes because it’s usually summer when i remember

except for the one time when I met my friend for coffee in town and it was cold and pale and dismal winter love like you find when the sand has gone white and frost bitten
and i took a sip of my drink at a nice corner table and tried to think back on things like my silly existence and then i kissed him once
and tasted cream