The Perfect Kiss. The Perfect Dance.

...a poem for the night

The perfect kiss is with a stranger.

When lips breathe warm anticipation,

and buttered-up hearts beat with careless justification.

When savory music chords in an entirely new world,

and the lips of man and woman surprisingly co-ord.

When flowerworks blossom alongside fireworks,

and lonely hearts glowsome alongside scare-dy hearts.

When his fingers crawl through body-paths uncharted

and her painted nails pore into flesh unscathed.

When the sensual frenzy dissolves into her relaxed widened palm on his back,

and their fizzy ‘shall we?’ resolves become a solid “you’re the one for me” ear-moan track.

The perfect kiss is with a stranger; a stranger with whom forever will eventually feel like an hour.

The perfect dance is with ‘a linger.’

When floaty heels turn with so much buoy,

and double-monk straps sweep with so much joy.

When tender bubble-y eyes lock on one another,

and elegantly locked arms anchor man and woman in feathery orchestra.

When aching hearts long, one for the other,

and inch-y distances fizzle away at the fusion of shoulders.

When her flight happens in his soft embrace,

and his smile stretches for her “oh my days!”

When one step leads to the other,

and two opposite beings find self, whole in one another.

When breathing without the other becomes imperfect,

and music without the partner deci-bells short of “just perfect.”

The perfect dance is with ‘a linger;’ the perfect dance, in memories, will forever linger.

____

See you on Sunday with the new episode of Playing Cupid.