Archive
02/06/11
Holy Kiss
Sundays always seem to become wondrous for us, And this one's no exception, Linda, Though you're in a time zone one hour ahead of me, And I'm twelve hundred miles north of you, in St. Louis, Reveling in the blue-ruled lines of my poetry notebook, Celebrating you and me, Inviting you to sense my heart beating with each ink stroke, Feel the fingers of my left hand holding the pages down, Those of my right guiding the pen, through its choreography.
After all, you've been at my side since early this morning, When I awakened from our dreams, in my apartment, Showered with you, nibbled blueberries, dressed, Walked to church, just across the street, To learn, from pastor Dan Doriani's sermon, About practicing the "holy kiss" Paul commends to his acolytes, Near the end of his epistle to the Romans — A blessed cheek-to-cheek greeting Meant to spread affection, love, and confirmation.
It's always so reassuring, for me, when we're apart, To have you in two places simultaneously And experience a synesthesia of our intellects, spirits, souls. Since we met, I've never not been together with you. Even now, after I've viewed a movie and dined by myself, You and I ride a slipstream of shared awareness. Tonight, I'll climb into my empty bed, next to you, And slowly suck your fingers, tongue the spaces between — This holy kiss, which narrows our distance, to whispers.
02/06/11
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