So many hours I have waited

for the perfect kiss.

Hundreds and thousands of minutes

passing like sweet molasses

through the smallest of pores

on cadaverous flesh.

Each drop beating on my already

bruised lips until they become

so frighteningly numb

that I cannot even speak.

But tonight, here under a warm blanket

of shooting stars and satellites,

these hardened lips

become supple and willing.

In a moment of

tender, fulfilling complexity

that only two halves of a whole

could possibly understand.

My being transcended

into my insatiable mouth,

opening like a flower to the bee,

turning the nectar

from within me

into sweet honey that falls

from his lips like a whisper

that only I can hear.

And while our lips burn

of this newly born desire

we seek out the warmth or our bodies

with hands and tortured minds.

This kiss, this Perfect Kiss,

radiates slowly through my entire soul.

It fills me,

enraptures as it consumes,

and further I fall

into that eternal abyss

of unrelenting uncertainty.

Suddenly a star shoots

desperately across the blackened sky

and you, so beautiful

the moonlight caught

within your chameleon eyes,

make a wish that you conceal

behind your kiss.