The Polish Kiss

In a dreamy field with dark blue irises, Her lips are like falling, flying beetle wings. In his blue eyes, sadness sinks, and hope rises. Over the life bridge, the bell of marriage swings. In the flower-filled wind, as high as his thought As near is his feeling to the heart of love. Flapping skywards, the dark spirits come to naught. So sunny the sky, here flies the white-winged dove. With his long black hair and his beautiful chest, He is a Polish king in their wedding bed. His ringed hand swings the paradise of her breast. From their bed, so far is the moon and so red. Their thoughts into the vast infinity slip, Into the flowers' seeds; untouched sutured wounds In forgotten memories flutter and clip. Prayers from afar do flow to the red lips' sounds. She wakes up from dreams; the irises have grown. Her vibrating horizon is forsaken- A love so near that her heart has never known. Knows now who she is, from her dream, awakened. Poem by Marieta Maglas