I don’t remember how Art kissed.
I remember how it felt.
Warm, sensual, desired, sexy, girly, vixenish, delightful.
When the connection was right, our kissing opened a door
that lead to ….

I kissed a guy last night.
He’s not the first one that I have kissed
but last time, back in the earlier months I kissed for and
with the need to connect, to feel a male body intently intent on my own.
I kissed back then to shoo away the loneliness, the loss and to carry in the idea that I was still human, desirable and wanted, even in the craziness of grief.

I kissed back then to fill a need that, as a woman, is not “polite” to express.
I kissed to see if I could without tears.

Last night I kissed to engage.
I know now that I’m desirable
I know now that I’m a “catch.”
That power changes the way I kiss.
I kissed him coyly.
I kissed him knowing firmly where I will draw the line.
I kissed this man to see if I liked the way he kissed. (I did)
I kissed him with delight and adventure and exploration.
When I kissed him,
warmth came, vixen appeared briefly.
Connection…..
too far away to see.
I laid in his arms and it was pleasing to me.
As I crawled into my bed last night,
I’m still lonely.
And I’m confident.
it’s completely bearable.
I can wait.
I can do this kid/life thing on my own if I have to and we will be better than OK.
The grief has settled (FOR THE MOMENT ONLY)
and what it leaves in its wake is patience and clarity.
Art and I had a unique, strong relationship.
Now, on the cusp of 46 years old, I take all that (and my wrinkled belly and droopy boobs) and march out to find a new relationship.
As a different Kim (with a wrinkled belly, droopy boobs and an ass that won’t stay up no matter how many butt exercises I do.)
This new confidence?

I am not sure it was worth his death.
But it’s a darn nice result of it!
Here’s to a lot more kissing!