The first time I kissed my best friend,
fireworks went off.
Really. I heard them.
Years of pent up repression
plus weeks of mounting tension
let loose in one firecracker moment.

In my mind grew the image
of my head blowing off.

Our lips, forced together
by some magnetic pull,
one set of curved flesh toward the other,
the force of two struggling hearts
below those lips, little bird hearts
beating quickly, quickly,
wanting to explode.

The kiss was soft and knowing
Our lips knew where to go.
The kiss was hard and had a punch.
The punch of forbidden fruit.
That, if-you-do-you’ll-go-to hell-
kind of punch.
Right in the mouth.

When we were able to pull our faces
away from each other,
to look at what we had done,
the fire was unbearable
the fire in her blue eyes,
the fire on her cheeks.
The air, and our breath
fanned the flames on our faces
and caught fire again.

All I knew was I would
never be the same.
And she better
get the hell out of there
before my husband came home.


Mary Diane Hausman | Website Designed and Maintained by Web Design Relief