Like Some King

What kind of kisses do you crave

I think I’ll ask, to catch you off-guard

To settle myself

And make your thoughts soar

From that dark desk

To somewhere you’d rather be

Once irritated, but glad now how you gave nod to my request

For this interview

Yet what has that to do, you’ll think, with paper or policy-making 

Nothing and everything, you know I know

As if I’ve read your thoughts

There’s no harm in breakfast before work

Italics Mine

I stand by my back-then words

The sight and the touch of a fiery hand

Brushed against the surface of my straight-from-only-God-knows-where intuition 

Reaching out, did you foresee -as you seem to be able- my fumblings and follies

I choke when I taste and gasp when I smell your handiwork against my handiwork

With incredulous eyes, stunned heart and still-shallow breath, again I say 

“Oh my God…oh my god….”