So many hours I have waited
for the perfect kiss.
Hundreds and thousands of minutes
passing like sweet molasses
through the smallest of pores
on cadaverous flesh.
Each drop beating on my already
bruised lips until they become
so frighteningly numb
that I cannot even speak.
But tonight, here under a warm blanket
of shooting stars and satellites,
these hardened lips
become supple and willing.
In a moment of
tender, fulfilling complexity
that only two halves of a whole
could possibly understand.
My being transcended
into my insatiable mouth,
opening like a flower to the bee,
turning the nectar
from within me
into sweet honey that falls
from her lips like a whisper
that only I can hear.
And while our lips burn
of this newly born desire
we seek out the warmth or our bodies
with hands and tortured minds.
This kiss, this Perfect Kiss,
radiates slowly through my entire soul.
It fills me,
enraptures as it consumes,
and further I fall
into that eternal abyss
of unrelenting uncertainty.
Suddenly a star shoots
desperately across the blackened sky
and you, so beautiful
the moonlight caught
within your chameleon eyes,
make a wish that you conceal
behind your kiss.