After the first kiss during the initial blush the second one seems

Like a hybrid place we rearranged. We arrange it again and it falls

Apart.  Primo was the first but his brother Secundo was always second

To be first we drive ourselves wanting to singularly contain it; but

Alas, it cannot be held forever but only reattempted.  What can we

Carry over to other relations; Secundo always feels like he is second.

The long experience of love hangs like an orchard of stars over us; the

Fleeting first kiss is like a comet that lights up the sky and resounds as

A bow that goes over a violin.  For this, Primo longs for the stars.

The inner workings of the first kiss outgrow seeking new containments.

Our gaze and holding on gets overcrowded and spills over to Secundo

But more avidly does the second brother hold on because of arriving late.

The added kisses pile up to adorn the orchard of the stars but they too fall

To a second heaven.   Always, Secundo says to Primo, “I’ll show you.” And

Erects a cathedral of desire with pillars and pylons creating a false Eros.

Our lives pass into transformation; where once an enduring house stood,

A contrived edifice is built as a supposition and mockery of the original.

Edifices once venerated now tilt as if to seek other spaces of primacy.

The woo of the first kiss sought a passion mate of the original emboldened

Passion so that the quiet sweetheart would slowly arouse and come to him;

Precipitously, the Secundo brother onrushes feeling; he has arrived too late.

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