photo: minusbaby
These lips
kissed the feet
of Christ.
Gave life
to the verses
of dead poets.
Fed blind
and unweaned
kittens.
Whispered
secrets into
deaf ears.
Begged
forgiveness
of an absent god.
Drew smoke
from the last cigarette
after midnight.
Wore
your favourite shade
of red.
Kiss them.
I hunger for your words. My lips are waiting, listening. Kiss your secrets to me.
and the completed kiss of a freshly read poem,each sentence a lick of the lips,an invite to meet in redness
deftly done
RG, this little poem speaks to me, thank you.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
Still trying to figure out how you do it.