Kissing strangers

Kissing strangers only feels good
If the stranger is strange enough 
to lay on some bathroom floor while you do it
the kissing isn't the important part 
the looking is—but it's only important when 
you're not actually doing a good job at looking.
Stop looking for god in me, I'm paper wreaths
and I might crinkle too loudly. It's 4am. 
Or so I say for dramatic effect, 
we don't actually need
to kiss—just pretend to be drunk or asleep so I can
cut off my tongue and leave it next to you.
Love is more than the additive power of all of its synonyms
But I can call your bullshit, love isn't poetry
It can mix with wordless languages 
Where everything ends up. Here, take this silence
give it a name, call it your heart, and fall asleep.
The entirety of this story can be read out loud
if you know the truth—
even strangers, the real kind, have more to say
in these quiet hours—
when a rhythm takes over, it's our heart/it's your silence.
I am still asking you if I can kiss you as a stranger
I still want to know if the strangeness has a point.

Raian Abedin is a poet, a student of Biochemistry, and a contributor for The Daily Star.