The Last Kiss

The last kiss is blown into the Sanskrit winds, passing indecipherably, planted on the sky. All that is discerned are emotions bared therein the calm of clock towers fossilised to claim what hurries by. So time sinks feet in instants of merciful prayer, locking down the shoulders bowed in reverent grief. Yet the smile her memory carves on the stone entreated lips pays homage to sweet life stolen by a jackdaw thief. The last kiss is made into the fade of day and shimmers in remembrance of a beauty without taint. That she catches it with laughing eyes and wipes the tears away, and conveys it to the heavens to bestow upon a saint.