The Kiss
What began in stone-marble perfection,
Eyelids a-touch,
Mouths wide open,
Clambered for much,
Remembrance unspoken,
His hand on her knee,
Excellent panoply,
Frozen in time and memory;
For they felt an inordinate thrill
Lasting an Age,
Carved with living hands.
On the rickety scaffold that bent,
And when it finally went,
The lovers remained
Broadcasting no shame.
Look at the various angles,
And their lips remain entangled
In a light and airy eroticism,
Beyond any critic's criticism.
Now those models are long gone,
Their feign is evermore;
So by the ticking of the clock
It is the norm That their lips stay locked.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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