I am too tall
for you to kiss
me directly on the lips
& so
(it goes)
I either(have to) bend down low
or you to stand on tippy toe
or pucker up on an escalator going down
you forever two steps above
or gather you
up in my arms
(& so, surprised
&so disarmed)
kiss you beyond the pt. of reason
(madness even)
until one
loses all sense of one’s senses
of...decorum.
The logical thing(it would seem)
for you to do
would be to carry
a soap box
(as Hyde Park orators do)
& everywhere
you go
& every time
a kiss springs to mind
(& you experience an urge
to translate thought into the actual doing of it)
why you just
step right up
& have a go.
But you(of course)
know that
you can’t fit even the smallest
neatest of soapbox
into a clutch
purse
& being cleverer(than most)
resolve to resolve it
with a passion & precision
that only you(& you alone)
can attain.
Drawing yourself up to
your full 5’ 2”
you simply push me(albeit gently)
- I such a pushover -
back onto a tempting bed
shagpile carpet or forest ferny floor
whereupon thus cut down
to size
(I gaze upon the wild imaginings of your eyes)
as you take
advantage(so to speak)
of our now equal positions
without the impositions
of our relative heights
& proceed to kiss me all night
just short of... perfect ecstasy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sigh, , , , , I am so envious of your obvious passions! ! ! ! (I do believe that we are all the same size lying down and here you prove the point! ! ! !) Lovely penning Mr DD - HG: -) xx