Garlic Kiss

The poet dons his gas mask before the date

I miss her loving
But most of all
Her garlic kiss,
The root of my attention
On the gaseous waste
Between her lips,
The aromatic passion
Of our stinking summer nights,
The fearful dawn
Of muted conversations
And poorly scented love-bites.

Of course I miss her beauty too,
The savage taste in varnish,
That intoxicating mix
Of pink and blue, which
Crowned musicians' fingers,
Crooning lullabies
And nocturnes,
Smoothing out the mental chaos,
Ever tender on my gout and worms.

But those are memories clouded
By the scent I wear in perpetuity
Upon my wrist;
And more than life
I miss her garlic kiss.


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Poem Study Notes:


Written in 1999, this effort is as about as close as this poet is able to get to writing a romantic love poem!

For those who enjoy classifying poems, you might earmark this one as 'tragicomic'.

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