Fire: My poem entitled "The Kiss"

The Kiss

He did not arrive last Friday.

I waited.

We last saw each other in April.

Now it's September.

He has to come today.

I am waiting.

I hate anticipation;

I have to be somewhere.

This store is a place to wait;

It is full of books.

I browsed some classics.

I read some in the book of quotes.

I lifted coffetable books.

I skimmed illustrated encyclopedia.

Still, there is no sign of him yet.

I stepped farther into the store.

I said, I hate anticipation.

I have to think of something at the moment.

I lifted a book of short stories,

and was absorbed tracing this line:

Do you know the real source of strength?

The kiss, the kiss alone!...

The kiss is only a preface, however...*

What a pleasant read, I admit.

And I smiled a bit.

Almost forgetting anticipation,

I lifted my head just in time for his kiss.

He came. 

And he kissed me.

He kissed me with suddenness,

He kissed me with intensity.

I can feel it inside me.

This must be so:

He kissed me in the forehead

as if giving me the prize for anticipating;

I can accept that.

But why can such a kiss electrify even my big toe?

*Excerpt from “The Kiss,” a story by Guy Maupassant

This is a poem inspired after reading Delicacy.

*Photo taken from http://www.musee-rodin.fr/en/collections/sculptures/kiss