Your kiss is more than simply lips to lips;
it’s more than pleasure passed with heated breath.
Your kiss is more than just a tongue which slips
through lipstick red as life and deep as death.
Your mouth becomes a passage to your soul;
the act becomes a breach of space and time.
It’s chaos gaining ground on self control,
and poetry surrendering to rhyme.
Then, as you slide your hand behind my neck,
while fever flushes red across my face,
my will is weakened first, then held in check;
your kiss becomes my solitary grace.
My world contracts and nothing else exists
except the perfect passion of your kiss.