Dave Bonta's poem asks one plain question, "What is a kiss?", and then refuses to answer it directly. Instead it piles up odd, mismatched comparisons. A kiss is silk stockings, a "light blue supper," a pleasant walk, a fine pain. None of these explain anything in a logical way, yet each one catches a feeling: softness, delicacy, ease, a little ache. "The king's coming" adds a rush of excitement and ceremony, as if something important is about to arrive.
The line about "a good foundation for Latin" is funny and unexpected. It treats a kiss like a first lesson, the start of a whole new language. The last line, "The absence of I," is the quietest and most striking. For a moment, the self disappears, and two people are no longer separate. The mood is playful and tender, a bit dreamy, and the speaker seems happy to let the feeling stay slightly mysterious rather than pinned down.