Typical

I am not typical.
I wax eloquent and shave fortnightly,
I weep alone and debate forthrightly.
And when I fall in love,
I do it with the kind of fervour
fit only for alcoholics and religious fanatics.
And that is not typical, because I am neither.

I am not typical.
I shave fortnightly and wax eloquent.
But I would, one day, like to try
to touch lightly upon the topic of your lips
and briefly trace the history of a kiss,
and touch and trace as typically
as anyone who has ever kissed
the unspeakable kiss.