I didn't come from
a kissy-huggy family.
We were Presbyterian.
But there was no lack of love.
By the time that I was twenty
I had kissed (erotically) just one
a damaged (female) Dane.
When I was nearly forty I visited
a wonderful, big Dalí show in Paris.
There, in the Centre Pompidou,
by a broken towel-machine in the cramped
and crowded ground-floor excretory facility
I met a man who introduced me
to man-kissing. He was bearded...
I can kiss men only if their mouths
are framed by hair. Like cunts ?
But I don't remember much kissing there
when I conformed to sexual norms.
Depending on individual histories
sexual predilections can take many
(and many less cuddly-kissy) forms.
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