Last Kiss
I wonder if she knew
it would be the last kiss.
A moist tender parting,
chains of chemicals from
tongues to brain that still
connects us.
Even now, I can taste it.
The memory of her
swims in my brain
sparking patterns
of synapse and nerve
that make me ache,
as the echo of a woman
is no substitute for her presence,
and her shadow, long departed,
still reaches me.
freshens the bloom
of a rose unappreciated in its day,
and dulls the pricking thorn,
still I think in balance
my fonder memories closer
to what was then
remembered pains now healed.
Though some scars remain,
I would not shed them
for they are a map to my past,
and her.
And though she is now
in the attic of my mind,
Occasionally I venture there
and find things still treasured,
not least of which is the last kiss
connecting me bitter-sweetly back
to her.
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