palm polly
The memory of our first kiss
Swims to the surface of my soul
Whenever I need it to release its heady balm
And remind me of why we fight
Your exquisite skin
Like china
I brushed with my knuckles
Checking the voltage still remained
The sparks flew
As they always had
The rain beat down upon us
But we were dry
The people stared
But we were alone
Your soft, cold lips
Pressed against mine
The warmth in my stomach
And in my groin
Orchids grew where we stood
Thick and heady
The scent of love
The scent of hope
That kiss seemed to last a thousand years
And within it every moment we would ever share
Pressed image on my eyesÂ
John Bastard
Thu 23rd Jul 2015 12:13
i disagree with cynthia: movies have scenes because art imitates life in exaggerated ways that serve to explore the depth of human feeling.
sometimes a kiss strikes you so deeply and so hard you dip down deep, touching a greater panorama of feeling where goosebumps are miles apart. every detail of the world for a city block spins around you, her, and that blissful eternity of a minute stretches out -- out and out and down for what could very well be forever -- until at last you part and return to the droop-lidded cold reality. Holding hands feels monochromatic by comparison.
or at least that's what i've felt.
you could call it a movie scene or you can call it a moment, bigger than the kiss itself. sometimes it goes the other way and your everything turns into the warmth and tactility of lips touching lips, which is great. but sometimes it goes from outside to inside to outside. really it all depends on what you remember (or what you want)
blah blah blah, ramble ramble
amen