and travels upwards through the diaphragm and throat
along fine filaments which no forensic scientist
has ever been able to find.
From the hard flower of the kisser’s mouth,
the kisses leave the body in single file,
into the reciprocal mouth of the kiss-recipient,
which for me is Kath.
What can I say? My kisses make her happy and I need that.
And sometimes, bending over her,
I have the unmistakable impression
that I am watering a plant.
gripping myself softly by the handle,
tilting my spout forward
pouring what I need to give
into the changing shape of her thirst.
I keep leaning forward to pour out
what continues to rise up
from the fountain of the kisses
which I, also, am drinking from.
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