She's fifteen. I'm fourteen.

We dance a blue black moon.

Her eyes are closed. Mine mimic. We kiss and dance a blue black moon.

By that, I mean it's dark. Forgive me, I'm a literary dick nigga. I tend to say "the moon dances blue black" when I only mean I can't see.

But still...



we're lip to lip, mouths open, minds somewhere beyond, hearts light, visions sable.

She said she only kisses this way.

Open eye tongue-ings freak her out.

I'm fourteen. She's fifteen.




Up until this point, I've watched every person I've ever put my lips on-

I've open eye tongued each one of them

because something about the feeling in their faces gets me, tickles me.

Ten seconds in, I always peek. Fifteen seconds, thirty.

She caught me the very first time we kissed. Twenty something seconds in, she knifed me,

"Ew, you kiss wit your eyes open?!"

*Record scratch* Stop.




I'm a literary dick nigga which means, well, I lie.

"Na, I had something in my eye."

My hand goes up to rub my eye. There's nothing there, but I blink hard and do five circles.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you just say something? We could've stopped."

"It was good. I didn't really want to."

"Oh."




We're back to kissing now and my eyes are shut tighter than a midnight walnut.
I'm quite thinking that she's cured me.

I'm quite thinking that I'll dance blue black moons from now on.