My bedroom turned into a mouth with our first kiss.
Then at the door, before you left, we kissed our kiss.
The fridge is empty but for coffee and lo-fat yogurt.
The fishes and the loaves collect after our kiss.
What follows after the beginning of a theme,
if not the complication—silence—to our kiss.
Of the three light bulbs in the ceiling, one has blown.
My eyes call for help the memory of our kiss.
I’m cynical about love, you said, and those words
embellish in my elephant ears our kiss.
My brain expostulates, you met him only twice.
But see the symmetry: the two dates kiss our kiss.
There is no reasoning with a madman. Leave Jee.
Come back to the intoxication of our kiss.