Tag Archive: Kiss


Denominar

Which way do you read – up or down
How do you smile, like this or …
Kiss is universal, yes? Or do you vary
your pucker slightly

© Chagall ∞

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Sandy Stars

The crisp scent of the mint keeps the pinks at bay
For want of a softer light I pray for rain
In vain since time in memorial less a mountain
Than a collage of sleepily filtered photos
The sand polishes both our bodies I have
Never felt more alive than now
Tickled in ocean spray
Under this moonlight
A splice in the dark
Your breathing takes me
Vague sculpted feet
In the wet beach
Silken sexy surf
Rolls on silica
Diamonds on black
As stars go so suns
Whether night or day
To where you are
Light years so far
Yet so finely lit constellate away
Bodies alive of so many colors
The delicious warmth of white foamy water washes over my feet
In the pitch darkness your breath cooler on my neck
Suddenly reminds my that sky is boundless
Much bluer by day hotter in need of rain
Pepper or spearmint oil
To keep the pinks at bay

© Chagall ∞

A Wisp of a Kiss is a Kisp

As the beat goes it says
so much to do so instead
do nothing – lose myself
in any direction – when
I was a girl once combed
in elusive fashion – was
more than I’d ever do –
take myself in any direction
– laughter rings and never
fades, simply dies away though
fingertips touched so lightly.

© Chagall ∞

You Would Have

To fulfill the destiny of the other
without consideration for ever having to fulfill one’s own
made for a far more spectacular life and so we chose it
without any regrets left unconsumed by actuality.

Sometimes it rained darkly in the seams of horizons stretched
like tired eyes across cityscapes, she blinks away drops.
A puddle is a place to dance – we pas de deux, slosh …
slow feet drag through heavy water.

Might I kiss you here? This place on this spot. See how words
convey no meaning at all! Lips, before the fountain, respectively.
Years from now the others will correctly say it’s Dijon
for look closely – see it, do you – the carousel?

© Chagall 2017

Alee

Down from Stuyvesant Town
a little bit up from the Boys Club

Where the bus lets you off
at Eleventh & A

About thirty feet above ground
my soul hangs suspended

I hover there to watch life pass
sweetly through a window frameless

A point of view timeless
as before is coincident now

Old city brick woven
in fire escapes

We’re once young stealing kisses
miles away at the southern tip

There the island goes dark
where two rivers meet

Alone at the point
amid too many crosswinds

Lean flat
lie back into the wall

Chagall 2015

Kissing While Snow Amasses

The night air is extraordinarily
cold, rarefied – prompts me to consider
if I had considered the language

It is snowing
then I thought simply

It snows
or simpler

Snowing
and still

just
Snow

sparkling
dry falling
night squadrons
wee icy crystals
cascade down her lashes
freeze cheeks
numb kisses
her lips
quickly

we are the first
to warm ankle-deep in
Snowfall

Chagall 2015

Baby, It’s The Dance . . .

It’s a remnant from having studied French
she said plus perfectly, the tip of her tongue
all over in the right place, she breathless
throaty with her R

I held her longer than most
in the wind with fingertips
on lashes snowflakes melted
atop her body’s heat, small eyelit flames

Of ember ablaze in night-rubbed velvet
against the grain barely purple, simply that time again
I push aside a single lock of an S
more breath than kiss swept away

I urge her to spin with a touch
to the hand apply pressure enough to propel
her to rotate about on the point of a world
that spirals her axes abound
her carousel horse gallops organ-spun
sun is alive diamond photons
still warm and so new, yet
to cast any shadow

Apropos to nothing that I know of
yet I sense that we light up
essentially this way, she allowed me
to show her

I loved her because
she wore espadrilles, not despite that
let’s be clear

Chagall 2015

Hats off to whomever
tuned the blend
got my toes tapping
heart pumps
races up my leg
like a ruby lip
smooth ride
tension sprung
unbound gypsies
how we release
watch me twirl
my bandanna is now
caught fire

Chagall 2015

Healing

chagall-backdrop4.jpg

I felt
her kiss
even through
the bandage.

© Chagall 2015

Twintertwine

chagall-backdrop4.jpg

A kiss is a probe, isn’t it? Tell me . . .
Wait! First, meet me in the shallows
where the echoes go, or atop the tree
where we’ll find our self
in selfish longing,
won’t you?

© Chagall 2015

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