The Lovelorn Kiss
Early into the Canadian spring
shone the late afternoon sun,
burning brightly, melting away my composure,
And drawing me closer to her.
My temperament ran dry as I began moving in for the kill,
Hoping for some feels and maybe even a kiss
⁃ a lovelorn kiss; one that I did not get, nor may ever.
I blamed myself for going in too soon,
And it was, after all, my fault.
She wasn’t ready; she may not have even wanted it from the start.
For all I’ve known, I may have just been shallow water for a woman who had just learnt to swim.
But to be frank,
I hadn’t really planned on it
⁃ not at the time, at least.
Yet why did I go for it?
Was it the long, illustrious sun-kissed hair, accentuated by shades and Hellenesque features? Or perhaps it was, the luminous, white, pasty flesh,
So modestly laden with her typical contemporary decor?
Perhaps, or perhaps not.
Could her scent,
the aroma of a pure-bred woman from the land of the ancients be to blame?
What of the half smirk, half smile, tinted in subtle, seductive whooshes of yearning?
Maybe I’m just a halfwit, or worse, lovelorn.
Perhaps I had failed to read her right – I never was much of a poker player.
All in all, she was voluminous in body and luscious in delight,
And it goes without saying,
I wouldn’t have minded a quick bite;
Yet, and quite unlike the past,
She did not yield to my charismatic charm, nor my cunning whims;
She was good, very good
⁃ or so I thought.
My failure wasn’t rooted in lack of the ensuing contact,
Which may have led to her dismay in me;
No, there was more to it.
I had failed myself, for more than wanting to touch her in any way I could,
More than merely having the momentary pleasure of having our lips – tongues, preferably – coalescing in a slow and rhythmic unity,
What I desired most was longevity:
The chance of wanting and being wanted and being cast away as an ephemeral love interest;
Whether it meant a long, gradual growth through friendship
Or a romance that just took its course naturally,
However soon our senses dictated.
That’s what I truly yearned for,
and perhaps now I’ve shot it down;
And for what? A moment’s recompense of my year’s long epoch of solitude?
That wasn’t even the case, unfortunately.
Desire hadn’t betrayed me, nor lack of composure, therein.
Deep inside, at the core of it all, lingered fear.
My fear wasn’t blameworthy, it was sincere and true;
Ofttimes, I miscalculate my actions negligently.
I liked her, I still do; I like her very much and it isn’t a puppy type of like nor a lovefool’s inhibition.
The fear was real; it was honest.
It left me vulnerable and open, something I hadn’t been in a very long time.
Leaving myself prey to the whims of a dashing woman, primitive in nature, but modern in thought,
Had left me wide-open as I left my heart out on an open platter
Ready to be scuttled by this pernicious beauty.
I took a gamble, and I’m still unsure of the consequence;
I pensively come to the pen in search of reason and clarity,
Vindictive of my failures the weekend prior.
Days later, I am not sure nor am I certain that there is anything I may or may not do to somehow to correct the feelings and needs of the woman who had so quickly captured my imagination and
⁃ dare I say, heart.
So it is: I sit, I lie, I walk, and I work in internal anxiety – fear of having foolishly ruined a good thing;
Yet, as a man, aware of his mind’s maturity and lack of romantic perplexity,
I’m confident that what is requited doesn’t stray so easily,
and especially, from so earnest a man.
If it does, let it be;
Hemingway had said,
“there’re always more fish in the seas, so keep fishing.”
He was right, but still, I’m uneasy;
Quantity doesn’t trump quality,
and for a fisherman, scrupulous as I, it’s all in the catch.
Written by Mensur Gjonbalaj
May 18, 2018