Tuesday, January 17, 2006

kisses

‘Kisses’ timothy r. gates, 12/31/2005 (as between, 2005-2006)

hugs, are great
pats, too
winks, flirt with our thirsts
thirsts filled get thirsty, again
Soft stokes, better
between the index and middle finger,
on the top of your hand, up towards the wrist,
this works.
In the upper middle, inside of your palm,
slowly caressing the crescent moon, holding your thumb,
can be unnerving, unsettling.
Touching, but not nearly a caress,
full hands moving up and down our frames,
not daring to grab at any point,
no leverage needed,
breathing is more like chanting,
we know what we know when we pray:
what we do and do not know,
matters not at all.
Kisses are not met a second time
unless the first one’s an invitation for another.
The aroma from love-making,
varied as it can be from one to another,
still is the sweet smell of sex,
one plus one, times more of the same,
till well spent, I pray.
A kiss’s allure
asks for less and more, at the same time,
this I do not desire from just anyone,
or everyone.
The one’s lips I covet,
I envy,
I lust,
I want,
I need,
I pray for
--help me see beyond the mirror,
--the place of illusions, allusions.
These lips I hear,
when spoken through,
when nothing is said aloud,
when tight,
when quivering, holding back tears.
These lips, I know,
are for kisses.
Pressed against mine,
we’d laugh and well up.
We’d kiss.

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