Her teeth came first, like twin white spears,

They bucked out proud, no shame, no grace—

A smile that launched a thousand fears.

Like rabbits racing from her face.

Her chin? A crack, a cleft, a line—

A peach pit carved by grand design.

I stared, unsure if I should laugh,

Or ask if she could sign my calf.

She whispered, “Ready?”—I was not.

Her breath was like a coffee pot

That brewed old socks and garlic stew,

With hints of something once a shoe.

She puckered up, I held my breath,

Prepared to meet a kiss of death.

Our lips collided—wet and loud—

A sloppy smack that drew a crowd.

I tasted onions, gym bag funk,

A hint of tuna, maybe skunk.

She smiled and said, “Was that your first?”

I nodded, fighting back the thirst.

But even through the dental clash,

The chin divide, the breathy splash—

I felt a spark, a strange delight,

Like kissing wrong could still feel right.

So here’s to kisses, weird and wild,

To every awkward, stinky child

Who finds in flaws a kind of bliss—

The beauty in a busted kiss.

-jason

© 2025 Jason C. Owen / www.a-writers-life.com. All Rights Reserved.
All content, including written works, images, and original concepts, is the intellectual property of Jason C. Owen.Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of any material from this site is strictly prohibited without express written consent.