Two Strangers Kissing

I remember that night in Union Square, 
I was telling you some ridiculous tale
of my boyish adventures. I remember
the moment, my hands freezing for your hold.
Everything you said to me resonated
in a way a tropical island warms you
somewhere far from the cold
more romantic than anything in English.
In that moment, I  felt fluent in a syntax my tongue
was incapable of pronouncing as a teen
still yet to learn how to do proficiently.
While I was contemplating the correct
conjugative verb, the correct timing 
to accent my impulses, you fell close
to me and our lips locked on these streets
where everything is dirty, and crude.

Kissing is Necessary

Through the thickness of static
I feel a joyousness playing turns
on a turntable, a moment like this
where nothing exist but you close to me
on the pavement of Union and Get Ready
I drift sideways, and you have to direct me
to my train, because my mind forgot how to walk
infatuated with a high that is your kiss, I’ve discovered
a canoodle dialect, a prerequiste for breathing.