the nineteen-year-old boykiss

wonderful
how a real nineteen-year-old boy will kiss you
like he doesn't know how,
like a waterfall pouring over his rocks
a for-ever stream,
steady and
heavy heavy heavy.

he'll make you know decades of roar and run
all inside a minute
or half of one;
rapids the rocks themselves had spun:
cold clear lip coming down
on that ancient jagged want sticking out -
stuck up in river-path and proud
of it, waiting
for its young water to dive down and
crash crash crash.

forever the first time.
stare at one spot in the rapids,
it's an endless crystal-shattering coming
of age.

wonderful
how a real nineteen-year-old boy
will stop kissing you
when his phone rings

like a wolf over its meat
hearing the hurt howl
of the pack;
he jerks his bloody head up,
growls,
ears go back.

off into the snow:
soon no
tracks tracks tracks.