The Napkin
I woke – or did not – and found on my pillow,
Bound by a knot – printed on a white napkin,
Strawberry lips with a pale pink glow;
Then I wished they were copied on my chin.
The only mirror is above the ceramic sink,
In the gloomy bathroom – But I dare not to see:
If nothing I discover, what would I think?
Could this kiss be less true to me?
I can unfold the napkin to place in a frame
Where all will know lips with a heart mold
Or maybe I leave on my pocket hidden from fame
Growing with me - a happy tale – so it’s told.
If every morning came to kiss me awake twice
I will keep sleeping - a third kiss will be nice.
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