The Last Kiss
by Mario Milosevic
Whenever I kissed him, but especially that first time, he tasted of metal: copper and steel. Strange, but not unpleasant. The smell of his spaceship clung to him. It was a mixture of flowers and rotten garbage. Again, strangely uplifting.
I don't know what made me want to plant that initial kiss. He had crashed in the hills above my house. I had seen his craft cut the sky open, a luminous wound like a surgeon's scalpel track, oozing light instead of blood.
When I found him, he was still in his craft, which was a soft thing, wrapped around his smooth purple body. Later the online community, once they saw him, called him the purple lobster. That wasn't quite right. He looked like he had a crusty exterior, but that was deceptive.
He did have large billowy limbs, four of them. They did kind of remind me of lobster limbs. His head was small, and his face had recognizable features: two eyes, a small mouth that opened vertically instead of horizontally, and no nose. I believe he got his oxygen through his skin.
He crawled out of his ship and flopped to the ground. He looked up at me and I looked at him.