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.