The Golden Kiss

How it should always be

Hold me when the sunlight is slanting, reflecting golden off the windows and through the bare branches. With the sky still blue yet failing fast, I hold you, baby, a secret kiss against the cold and I am laughing. The sky is on fire, and the shadows lengthen. We are walking hand in hand near the water, the ripples reflecting like tiny windows or pieces of the sun. The sky lit the water on fire.

 

Hold me when I sigh deeply and trace the flock of geese with my eyes. But it’s not just about holding. It’s about feeling. Receiving. Loving and listening. Can I ask this of you? Of course I can, we haven’t met yet, but you’ll understand my questions without me asking them. You’ll know how my mind swims in this flickering, burning sea.

 

This time of day, this moment passes so quickly. And yet it’s my favorite time of all. It never lasts. One of the poets noticed this, Shelley or Keats…I forget who. But I know what they mean: the sweetest kiss is the one you know will end. Longer, a little longer, hold it still.

 

And we separate, the sun goes down, the wind picks up, it is over. The water is dark and the sky as well. I hug you from behind and realize that my life is complete.