No abracadabra kiss, no sleight-of hand kiss, but still the anticipation of magic. Their lips touch once, brush once, and again. No swelling music, no excess of poetry. Just a kiss. The warmest touch, a timid tracing of the curves of their mouths. A thousand Hollywood kisses was no teacher. They teach each other with each curious taste. Their hands are uncertain and careful. He shifts the strands of her hair with his fingertips. Her hands rest on his neck and shoulder, daring him to stop. She may die if he does.
They kiss, their first kiss, and it was the longest and the shortest kiss, a kiss that would outlive its moments.