First Kiss
That kiss is still moving
lips pursed not knowing how to open yet
bud to bud.
Then off to the end of my life it moves on
blossoming into a hundred shapes
landfall, rainfalls, waterfalls:
beneath the soft flutter, the fierce hunger
that first kiss still in transit,
basking in teardrops, drowning in its own blood.
Perfumed with honey and bitter root,
adoring blindly, exploring, always delving deeper
dipping ever into the mouths
of a still transmigratory love.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment