Midnight Kiss

Fireworks went off in our lips,
bright lights flashed as our eyes closed,
the hairs on the back of our necks stood erect.

Your warm, soft hand was caressing my cold cheek,
your mellow fingers were walking through my hair,
all while Auld Lang Syne's melancholic tune drifted away, resembling the tolling of a far-away bell announcing a new age.

A carousel of hysteria encircling us slowed down to a freezing halt,
and
I could only hear your heartbeat's pulse
in your breasts pressed upon my chest, and
in your lips sealed to my own.

We stand alive in the cold, January air.
Our kiss, a furnace of love
warming our bones.

At 11:55,
the December air is ready to give up its last breaths of life,
and we begin to play the film in our heads.

Five minutes remain.
Shall I rewind the film?
Or shall I make a move, only to be disappointed that the
reality is unlike what both of us have imagined?

If only we were both in love, then we would not have to bear such a superficial kiss.