My Companion's Kiss
Shawn Gray

With my soft companion's luscious kiss
I do not sing like a nightingale,
nor do I rejoice with time or rhyme.
My heart is not captured behind rusty gates,
nor do I run through flowery fields
or hear the celebratory boom of firecrackers.

No, when my lips are caressed by her
there is no sudden surge of electricity;
instead my toes curl and shoot into the earth
grounding me in the moist soil
like an ancient tree's roots,
buried in respectable ecstasy.

When we kiss there is no raging storm,
just a gentle shower in the darkness
washing us clean, purifying our taste,
vanquishing the sour, leaving the sweet,
soaking us with a lasting heartbeat
tempered against cooling.

This kiss is my companion's art,
looking cold to the casual observer
but bringing the eloquent peace
of an ancient forest glade to me
in a breathtaking kiss
which, once broken, leaves me breathing frost.

Published in Out/Words #1 (view contents)