brush mine. A kiss, or almost a kiss. One. The first.
In return, I kiss you twice. Water falls. Mist sprays.
Our lips touch. Then touch and touch again. The thrill
wakes me. I pull the covers over my head, hunting
in the darkness for you. In vain. A blackbird
sings at the window. Won't let me slip back to you.
In the next room, you sleep alone. At breakfast, we meet
again. Your lips and hands flutter eagerly. Beside you,
shivering in the heat, I'm glad. Electricity
lingers on my lips. On the window ledge, the blackbird
picks at and pushes something glittery: perhaps
a scrap of dream, with its pattern of interwoven starbursts.
A bit of shattered sunrise. You look
not at the bird but at me. Your lips pause by my ear.
Almost close enough to kiss.
Mary Stebbins
For Keith, remembering Niagara
6A, 2/11/04; 5A, 12:20 AM; 4Vv, 10-3-02; 3D, 8-30-02; 2A, 7-14-02; lst, 7-2-02
(see 3F, different version?)
Sent to Turtleink Tuesday, August 14, 2007
1 comment:
I love how you "capture" seemingly elusive moments with your words. I can envision her grasping to keep the beautiful dream alive.
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