This is part of a project that documents first kisses through my past. Memory can distort things and I'm creative, so not everything is 100% true.
He sat on the floor of her 10x10 foot bedroom. The wood grained linoleum that made painting practical but sitting rough didn't even phase him. His legs crossed and knees elevated. His blue eyes large and eager to see what she was about to do to him. She mesmerized him. The wild tendrils of his hair similar to his frenetic energy. He wished to touch her always. The way she would always place her ankle next to his when they slept. She finally sat on the cold floor and faced him. Told him to close his eyes. Placed her hands on his shoulders slightly. She entered him in spirit. Her extended being swam in his body, searching for dark spots, for hidden poetry, for places that would make him giggle. All with her mind, she'd give and get sensations. To him, it was real. To her, it was natural. And as this rummage was taking place, they kissed. A metaphor for her deeper pursuit, a way to be invited in. To let his guard down. To feel safe. She became him. She loved him.