The Race to the Lips

November 18, 2016
By Csheaa BRONZE, Congers, New York
Csheaa BRONZE, Congers, New York
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

“Whoever wins the race can kiss me”
I bolt across the pool
My vision blurred,
with only the metal wall
glistening like a trophy in the distance

Almost there
A second ahead of the others
they become a blur behind me
Little splashes
and specks I flick away
My fingers press the solid edge
I finish

He stands in front of me
Tall, smiling, I swim in his crystal blue eyes
“I knew you would win”
Only one thought runs through my mind
“When will he kiss me?”
My cheeks
tinted pink
butterflies soaring in my stomach

All alone in front of everyone
He leans in
It finally happens
A big wet sloppy kiss
That tastes like
Hot dogs and pool water
My head flies back,
I try to control my laughter

I guess my first kiss wasn’t the enchanted fairytale,
like I’d always dreamed.
He was no prince charming,
but forever stayed a slimy frog.

The author's comments:

I wrote this poem in my creative writing class, and I read it aloud at English Honors Society. This poem is the story of my first kiss. 

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