Summer/Fall 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1997 |

Kisses

I have been kissed to the point of madness, my mouth is swallowing up my heart. Kisses flying like birds from one perch to another, deep winged kisses, snowy kisses, crushed with cold deranged and rearranged, mashing down the tip of the nose, hard bruising kisses matched by the inmost chambers of the body, washed clean as a seashell, wrapped in silk, rattled like a train whose cold wind rushes past, the blast of space that separates the lover's mouths as they come up for air.

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Sex at Seventeen

By Liz Rosenberg

I have been kissed to the point of madness, my mouth is swallowing up my heart. Kisses flying like birds from one perch to another, deep winged kisses, snowy kisses, […]

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