Parting

He kisses like it's a means to an end, a mere formality that must be observed. He inhales kisses, gulps them down as willow bark and acrid powder, dry-swallowing. The results approve the cure.

"That sucked," I declare, pulling him back for more, trying to take him with me to savor the taste.

But he has had far too many bitter sips from unwashed cups, and doesn't know that kisses can be delectable. He has yet to be taught how to give more than mere lust with his lips.

Where I find layers and levels of connection, satisfying in and of itself, he finds only obligation.

We part.