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literature
On a Kiss
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Literature Text
It is not a taste,
Not precisely,
My tongue running over my lips...
It is not a taste you have left,
For I taste only myself again,
But I taste now also
The absence of your lips.
It is not a sound you have left,
But the silence remembers your laugh,
And the floor recalls your feet,
Marking itself not with footprints
But with an absence of footprints:
The cold of my side remembering
Your warmth against it.
Not precisely,
My tongue running over my lips...
It is not a taste you have left,
For I taste only myself again,
But I taste now also
The absence of your lips.
It is not a sound you have left,
But the silence remembers your laugh,
And the floor recalls your feet,
Marking itself not with footprints
But with an absence of footprints:
The cold of my side remembering
Your warmth against it.
Fairly stereotypical fare, I suppose, but what else could I do?
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