Kiss (x4)

The kiss on my cheek,
I lay quiet,
pulling the heavy duvet
over my crunched body
becoming something more of a bean
than a being:

and soft
and soft
and soft
and soft
all four quickly in succession
across the thin, David Bowie shape of my jaw
it’s impossible to tell which is what
or where the feather of the kiss lies
if it is in my skin
or your lips
my best guess is that it lives
somewhere between the spaces
The particles that are slung,
like so many shooting stars,
around the galaxy of your mouth
And south, north, east, west,
directions that take pages to explain
directions that can only be explained
with the unlimited passing of time
Skirting and dancing,
creating the gentle feather of each soft peck;

There is paint in this moment,
universes and microcosms
enveloping and unfolding,
stars burning down,
the world slowly going up in
a haze of ash,
a product of greed
and a coughing fit of carbon monoxide poisoning,

yet each peck
pauses,
if not for something beyond time
than what seems like a minute,
and expresses a limitless well of
pure intention
adoration,
love,
care,
humanity,
a sense of universal interconnectedness.

four small kisses,
reminding me that we were once whole