Sunday, January 15, 2017

a thousand kisses

And when you wake
from ill-sought sleep,
from the sport of
unbidden dreams,
I would be there
to sing you
the anaesthesia of love.

But I am not
and the songs you hear
are the garnish of commotion
in the cloak of pain.

I would I were
the bringer of release,
the keys to the prison
that holds you now,
but I bring only
a thousand kisses
and a thousand beyond
to make your sentence lighter.

I would kiss your fingertips
Your brow, your eyes,
your smile, your lips.
I would paint your breath
with kisses
as the world returns
and have you know
that all I have
to brush you gentle

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