Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: kisses


This avenue is lined with buried spotlights aimed straight into the black sky like pillars of solid white. You want to take a picture of the way the beams of light seem to eat all the dancing snowflakes, but one of your hands is entangled in mine. You pause, in thought. You bring out your cameraphone and struggle with it, eventually holding it steady with your free hand and then softly kissing the circle on the touchscreen to take the photo. I squeeze your hand, you put your things away and your hand into my pocket, and we walk on.

In the City of the Dead Last Week

In the city of the dead last week, a man with three tongues tried to kiss me. He said he had three tries, and that he would eat my heart. I turned to liquid and slipped out of his grip, and he fumbled after me, drooling all over himself, his spent tongues lolling, flopping on the floor. I guarded my heart closely on the way out of the city, on the bus with the grinning driver. In the city of the dead, last week, a man with three tongues ate the heart of another girl, someone who stood no chance.

Dream Journal Entry #5

The sex dreams, I never have. If a dream stays with you long enough, it transmutes into some weird memory that no-one else remembers. There is biting, thrashing, scratching, growling. I kiss, and you kiss back. You whisper, “You may do whatever you feel like,” and for days that echoes in my skull. Things aren’t real unless they can touch me (and I touch back); so why can’t you touch me? You mustn’t be real. I’ve done this before; I’ve never done this before. You’re not a dream. You must have happened. We had twenty-four hours like an action movie.


I had a dream that you kept telling me you were just a dream. You explained it would be a crapshoot whether I would even remember it in the morning, and while you talked you stroked my hair back behind my ear the way you do. You kissed my forehead and kept your mouth there so I could feel your smile. You turned my head and you whispered, “This is not important. This is nothing but impressions gathered during the day, arranged in sequence by your subconscious. This is weakness entering your body. Just enjoy it. Don’t think too much.”

First Kiss

Our pets always died. We ran out of room in our own garden so I sneaked into the neighbours’. I dug carefully and put the grass back the way it was; I became adept at handling shovels. Extremely adept. So when Mariot – who never called me – called me, I knew what it was about. She told me where to meet her.

Someone got a gravelly grave. I hadn’t recognized his face. I saved the place on my phone, as an X in a geotagged tweet in the drafts folder, and told Mariot she owed me. She gave me a kiss.


The sea attacked the shore with its whole self; kissing it again and again. The shore tried to shrug it away and then push it, it tried to say it only wanted to be friends (and it worried about the status of their friendship; people take this sort of thing rather seriously, especially with entities so contiguous as they). But the sea continued, lunatic and obsessed, until it wore it down, until the shore was nothing but hard, cold rock. The sea threw itself still, asking for another kiss though it could not reach the top of this new formation.