The Kiss

This poem grew unexpectedly [don't most of them?] from a sad seed but developed into something rather special and, for me, just a bit different too...





The Kiss - 15 Jun 10

Beneath the
Silver
Sliver
Sickle
Newborn Moon
The rose lies bleeding
Abandoned
Petals strewn
Across the lawn
The kiss
Forgotten
Red on red

Satin sheets
Crumpled
Beneath her,
Lips waiting
For another kiss
She writhes
Slowly
Sinuously
Waiting for his breath
Against her skin
Again

Craving another kiss
She reaches out
To draw him close
Again
To wrap with
Arms
Legs
Body
And hold him closer
Closer





I really didn't expect this poem to form, from what started in my mind...I am wondering whether this marks a new departure for me, if so - where will it lead?