Timothy Liu The Saddest Thing is a Kiss

without feeling. A fly-by
drive-thru air kiss, or worse,
all eyes fixed on a family-
sized peck to the cheek

during the holidays in a room
that reeks of potpourri
sprayed from a goddamn
can. The connubial kiss

that has to be redone.
The status-update kiss
with all parties tagged
and subsequently liked

or commented on with
a chain of less-than threes
when what needs to be said
is Get a Fucking Room!

Stolen and surreptitious
trumps those fictitious
Kodak story-book scripts—
sunsets caressed by air-

brushed waves drier than
my nana's pussy. Slurp
slurp slurp go the lips.
Gobble gobble gobble

goes the mouth chasing
after cherries bounce
from one end of a vintage
screen to another, all of us

down to our last quarters.


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