I close my eyes and tilt my head to the left like I do when I go to kiss my girl who’s home waiting for me, and she hates being home alone because what her imagination does to her, but I’ll be home shortly if this is only a kiss, a short kiss, a momentary lapse, the death of a star, not to be felt until much later. I’m thinking about mom and dad, how they met while dad was married, to a woman I never met and never had to care about, a faceless woman that I never imagined crying over the loss of my dad until now. That idea, the expression, “once a cheater, always a cheater,” if I stop now it will have been a pleasant night of flirting that ended with me closing my eyes and tilting my head to the left, but sadly, desperately sadly, within my movements I didn't think of hers. Her lips, warm and wet and what you’d expect, it’s nice, but just nice, it’s not the starburst explosive chemical energy you want at a moment like this. I try to think of her face as I feel her kiss, but I can't picture it. 

SEAN GRIFFIN received his MFA in Creative Writing from Manhattanville College. His creative non-fiction has appeared in Foliate Oak Literary Magazine and his poetry in The Offbeat. He teaches at Concordia College of New York, is an editor for Inkwell Literary Journal, and lives in New York with his three dogs. He can be found on Instagram @seangrifter.