The Kiss

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They kissed. Or rather he kissed her,she turning deftly, offering a cheekto suffer osculation. Was thisthe slight physical antipathyLa Rochfoucald had thought essentialto friendship across the genders that now denied him lip on lip?Or was it her calculationof future perils--."Zip it, sailor."--here cannily prepared for?Yet she had deplored her garlickysalad and his sniffles. Perhaps she fearedgiving offense or catching cold.Or was she a lady who extended favorsin Victorian increments:come summer, tepid whispers,by autumn, fingertips,and full surrender when desire froze?Or was it modesty? This wasa public place. Or something out of Freud?Or . . . fool, enough; she's waiting.But for what?

© Zitner Sheldon