Adagio and the Late Bloomer

I’ll remember your adagio kisses on my forehead.
How for the first time in my life I actually wanted to give,
how I wanted to give to you.

O to apprehend this desire within myself–that it exists after all,
all of my thirty-odd years.

The desire to give of my body–
without shame or anxiety,
without fear or disgust,
without hurry or rush–
bode within me there with you.

O to know joy in displaying affection without words!
And to show gladness for your patience in the subtleties of touch.
O to give in mind, will, and emotions and finally, a kiss–
or more like many kisses–to your lips!

And also the one to your cheek. Do you remember?
Fearful of rejection–despite ample evidence I could not be further from encountering a negative reception–
I proceeded with this particular expression,
“stuck my neck out” boldly your direction,
to catch you off your guard and
dared to give without a trade,
without exchange.

And like the metaphor of open arms,
while I, reposed, enclosed between your own,
you received me
and rectified my detour to your cheek.

O fast, fast,
slow.

I, moderato,
like an owl eager for the center of a Tootsie Pop,
and you,
you and your adagio…

Our adagio.





I will remember your slow kisses on my forehead.
I will remember feeling precious in your presence and your arms.
I will remember what you told me by the nuance of your touch.
I will give thanks for all the gifts that I had not received before.

Copyright © 2020 A.M. Wilsonne

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