Kiss Math by Justin Rigamonti

Lucky you, extrapolating love from one kiss. 
The dog can’t do this so she gets ten. 
A kiss is indicative for you of all my love, 
isn’t it? You can do the math, she can’t,
which is why I’m kissing her head so much. 
If one kiss means the world to you,
then why would you need another?
I bury my face in her soft red hide and kiss her. 
I pull at her soft red legs and kiss her. 
Meanwhile, you subsist on kisses past, 
kisses immaterial. The only real kiss is 
the one happening now. And now,
nothing is happening—you’re both asleep. 
I’m writing alone by candlelight.

Justin Rigamonti teaches composition, creative writing, and publishing at Portland Community College, where he served as the program coordinator for the Carolyn Moore Writing Residency. His poems have been recently published or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Rattle, and the 2024 anthology The Poetry of Grief, Gratitude, and Reverence (Wisdom Books, 2024). His poem "Failure" was selected to appear in Best New Poets 2025.

Published October 15 2025