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.
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