【Ted-ED】诗歌系列 EP08 初吻 'First Kiss' by Tim Seibles

First kiss. Her mouth fell into my mouth. Like a summer snow. Like a fifth season. Like a fresh Eden. Like Eden when Eve made God whimper with the liquid tilt of her hips. Her kiss hurt like that. I mean, it was as if she'd mixed the sweat of an angel with the taste of a tangerine. I swear, my mouth had been a helmet forever greased with secrets. My mouth a dead-end street, a little bit lit by teeth. My heart, a clam, slammed shut at the bottom of a dark. But her mouth pulled up like a baby blue Cadillac, packed with canaries, driven by a toucan. I swear, those lips said bright wings when we kissed. Wild and precise, as if she were teaching a seahorse to speak. Her mouth so careful, chumming the first vowel from my throat, until my brain was a piano, banged loud, hammered like that. It was like, I swear, her tongue was Saturn's seventh moon, hot like that. Hot and cold and circling, circling, turning me into a glad planet. Sun on one side, night pouring her slow hand over the other. One fire flying the kite of another. Her kiss, I swear, if the great mother rushed open the moon like a gift, and you were there to feel your shadow finally unhooked from your wrist. That'd be it, but even sweeter, like a riot of peg-legged priests on pogo sticks. Up and up, this way and this. Not falling, but on and on like that. Badly behaved, but holy, I swear. That kiss, both lips utterly committed to the world, like a peace corps, like a free store. Forever and always a new city, no locks, no walls, just doors. Like that, I swear. Like that.