The Kiss
after Gustav Klimt

Kneeling
in the summer meadow,
oblivious to crushed petals
beneath bare feet,
leaves tangled round ankles
and bright flower stars
threaded through copper hair,
they embrace,
bodies folded
in a golden mantle,
stealing time
to touch...
tender lips to cool cheak
trusted hand to exposed neck.

Time elapses.

Grafted to his torso,
red poppy and
blue gentian spiral
lazily round her
motionless figure
staking their claim.

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