day four

i'm writing a poem every day over my winter break, only posting a few that I like

the longest distance on earth is not

from Chicago to Gambier, 

but the space between our lips

where there is barely room 

for television static

before they must lock. 

we change channels

with the tense exchange of breath. 

I Love Lucy reruns play silently

in black and white when you breathe in

and almost touch my stockings.

 

when our lips finally touch, 

all the airwaves go still,

as if they’d been waiting for some quiet,

because the decibel of necessity 

in your lips is the loudest sound

I’ve ever tasted.