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The Kiss, Gustav Klimt, 1907
I never thought you would kiss me
but then you did
a lightning bolt that rose to my temple and descended to my toes
an avalanche that reshaped my terrain.
I confess I sought your charity
claiming I had forgotten how to kiss
This was not subterfuge
yet neither was it entirely false.
It was more than worth the ploy
I can still taste your lips
Their few moments on mine
still shine when I smile.
Where do we go from here?
I seek many more embraces:
deeper, more passionate, knowing no boundaries.
Can we kiss again?
Or was this the last kiss
that was ours to share-
a mere apostrophe
in life’s larger punctuation?
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