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Poem

It's not every woman I love gets my kiss
(Though I wish for it), some lips aren't tasted by mine,
Although touching's in play, it may not know the bliss
Of a moment's reflection, "I wish you were mine!"
It can be that both grok and regret we aren't free
To dispense our whole hearts with such sweet charity.

All are children at play as we come through the rye
But as long as there's life we feel pain of good-bye,
Each sigh asks, "is it worth it, the time spent on love
That can vanish (means fast for a soul trapped in skin)!
Or is love just placebo, when push comes to shove,
Not the cure that we hope for, more kith and less kin. 

Though north cultures coin words for ways snow can impact
Human cultures seem shy to call kisses by name,
Words for 'snow floats in air,' and for 'ground snow found packed,'
True, with paler faced people a 'French Kiss' has fame
But it's 'phrase' not a 'word and lacks humor or Grace,
Lacks poetical subtext, mute tongues f**k a face!.

No kiss named says you're loved, no pursed lips au revoir?
We name thousands of rocks here, no kiss for 'you bore
Me to death (please stay out of my lane)!' It's just me?
Am I steering this rhyme off the road? Am I frog
Or a toad, is a princess around? Is there no remedy?
Might the action be over or this its prologue?


Brian Johnston
8th of May in 2020

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