In my arrogance I stated,
Let me live out a poem,
Rather than to pen intent
I pushed aside the tale of a blown kiss,
That I might claim the taste for myself
Oh descriptive poetry,
You were an oddity to me,
Not seeming to be of my kind
Enclosures, void of touch
A virtual unreality in the truest sense,
Unwilling to venture beyond commitment,
Watching others dance while sitting in a chair,
Penning their steps
Yet, I kept hearing voices,
Do I know poetry at all?
Have I become the domestic proverb,
The one not listening to his woman,
Places her in another’s arms?
Poetry does indeed have many facets
And favoring one kiss, limits ourselves
Every occurrence must have an echo,
According to its likeness,
Be it noise, shadow or feeling
Love has its own voice,
And the sound of its steps are considered sacred
And for those who will accept it,
They are part of the kiss that remains
Poetry’s Kiss
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