-The Kiss-
How fragile this gift,
that weaves it's charms between the silence,
to heal the fractured scars, the dim lit remains.
Whence it comes, who can say,
yet who can forestall it's gentle ways,
the deft eloquence in loves glissading hallways.
Such promise, sweeps into the yielding heart,
an emollient, ripened in it's season,
plucked from off the cherished lip of love,
a succulence of spirit sipped beyond all reason.
This gentle water, flowing between the cracks,
a castle swept aside, left in the past,
succumbing to this ever loving tide.
Your delicate frame,
shivering in the constancy and the bliss,
with every echo of that sad refrain,
love calls your name, a kiss.
These hearts, awoken as of one,
knowing only the amber glow of loves bright star,
that casts the trembling hour,
into the ashen hearth,
the frozen heart devoured in the warmth at last.
© Richard Michael Parker 2013
