Kiss Me

Kiss me in the brink of a second as if time could be liberated from the binds of its mortality. Let the ink of those who write calendar pages run dry so that there would be no sunrise or midnight or any other tomorrow by any other name. Hold the passing breaths that pass between parted lips and pause the blinking eyes of all witnesses. Should there be a slip or a fault or a crack of any sort let me be blinded by the light of the new morning. Sing no songs so that the clutches of those who are fastened would not be distracted from their crusades against gravity. All may be star-crossed when thwarted by time so kiss me in a crescendo’s peak so that we may be shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand for at least tomorrow’s yesterday.