The first time was strangest—
As most first times go—
When my mother became an Eskimo
And kissed me as they do, she said,
Where homes are built of snow,
And penguins besiege your bed.
It’s forbiddenly cold,
She went with a smile,
To use the lips in the usual style;
They would stick in such a weather,
Too much the tundra-trial
For two to face together.
They use their sniffer,
In the safer stead,
To forgo the ends of said lip-locked dread;
Love is shared on the touch of nose—
Add a slight shake of head
And wing-off the further woes.
From time-to-sublime since,
I’ve had near-misses
With loving lips for my nose’s wishes:
I’d lean into a heartthrob’s face
All Eskimom kisses
Before I’d recall my place.
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Music: On Jovian Clouds
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