Where kisses go that’s been kissed,

All kisses ever kissed?

A list of things pressed to my lips,

Foreheads, cheeks, inner thighs,

Bourbon or the sweeter sister rye.

There must be an immortal trace

Of kissing,

Like judgement for my sins when I die.

Lovers left without last rites

Or crucified,

Read my sins with those lips I’ve kissed.

I kissed you well,

Earned my place for lovers in Dante’s hell.

Lift up these weights on my face,

Cheeks of foreskin cover my chin.

Read my sins,

The immortal trace;

You swirled her lipstick on her face,

Made a Pollack painting with your tongue.

Where have all the kisses gone?

Pour morphine over my crusted lips

Till all that’s left of me is hearing

Harsh sparks of a cold October rain

On crisp leaves.

Now I recall without a list

I was never forgiven with a kiss.

Categories: Life, Poetry