Watching the Kiss by DS Maolalai

burnt just right
and the silk taste
of sweet syrupy soda
crushed on ice,
this is it,
this is the movies,
not some clever
well-reviewed nonsense
making a play at poetry
and the good-looking boys and girls,
Antman up there
ten thousand meters tall,
Star Wars doing stories,
Batman giving his last.
blue velvet seats
and light spewing superheroes over you,
loud noise from left and right
and all concentrated
on the one big rectangle.
three hundred people
all peeping through a keyhole,
watching the kiss
and the whole swoop overhead
and afterwards
kissing someone
the way you couldn’t when it was happening
because you didn’t want to miss anything
and tasting popcorn again,
getting at the slices of skin
stuck between someone’s teeth
hearing traffic and congestion
and everything else you were missing
while everything else
was going on.

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