Kissing the Sky, Or Maybe the Sea
Hendrix sang of kissing the sky. I prefer your kiss.
Can clear or misty skies compete
with your kiss?
I cannot imagine kissing the sky. On my tiptoes,
my mouth forever waiting...
Unlike your kiss.
Swinburne kissed the sea. Did it slam into him-- bent over--
knock him off his feet?
You bowl me over—with your kiss.
The wind playfully musses my hair. Well, like any lover
it might if I wasn’t bald
and grateful for your kiss.
Why should I listen to Dear Abbey?
Or be taken in
by absurd poets? I know what I want.
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