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Kiss

I want to kiss her after kissing her,
and before, and while kissing her,
I thirst to kiss her again:

I fear all this kissing will crack my lips open
and I will spill words onto her tongue:
     You are the water and jug
     and I thirst and I thirst.

but first I will kiss her
and shepherd sweet words
over the hills of our mouths,
     You are the smoke and the salt,
     preserve me, preserve me

so she will kiss me and kiss me,
and this poetry isn’t free,
it’s bartered from me
with the moist of her lips,
the clip of her tongue as it slips
into me, an offer of moisture

for the roots of my poetry,
for the tangling roots entangling me.

I want to kiss her after kissing her,
and before, and while kissing her,
I thirst to kiss her again.

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