Way Ward

Yellow Kisses

My friends think kisses are in the shades of red.

Red like love,

Like passion,

Like lust,

Like power.

But my kisses come in multitudes of yellow.

My kisses are in the yellowing pages of books,

My kisses are in the fields of yellow mustard.

My kisses are in the yellow curry of my mother,

In the yellow hands of my lover.

My kisses don't burn red.

They promise lazy summer afternoons

And a breeze of warmth in winter.

My kisses promise unabashed dancing in the rain

And chasing each other, rolling down, smiling in a garden of yellow flowers.

My kisses are hidden in the "our spot" of the library,

In the crinkles of your unbridled laughter.

My kisses are in the touch of your hands on my lips,

The touch of your lips on my hand

And the touch of our hearts in our chest.

My kisses are drowning in waves of the sun.

My friends think burning kisses should be red.

But the sun burns brazenly yellow,

So my kisses, unapologetically are bright yellow.

Have a taste of my yellow kisses on your blue lips,

Let us create a green apocalypse.