Kiss

This is not your kiss

I give you not my kiss

this kiss is our shared dish.

It begins with a small solo voice

early in the morning

with sleep on our lips.

It rises to become a melody

at breakfast time

with marmalade.

By soup at twelve

it is a symphony

with crashing crescendo

leaving us bewildered,

needing afternoon tea

and cake.

When we meet for supper

our kiss puts on slippers

and plays a soothing serenade.

At 23:23 we surrender

to its Nocturne Adagio

and feed our kiss with love.