A Kiss

And sometimes it is
loss

                                                         that we lose,

             and sometimes

it is just lips. When I was


                               a child, I would ask my mother
to tuck me

                                   in, wrap me tight in blankets,

             make me into a burrito.


                               Sometimes I would wait in bed,

pressing my body stiff, like a board,

mind like a feather, silly— setting the scene



                           to be seen.
                  
                                              So I could be wrapped.
                                              
                                                   So I could be kissed.


And what

                                    I miss most,


is being              made                                    again.


-- David Tomas Martinez