If you could put a kiss
in a paper bag, and
stick it in a windowsill,
so when the sun spills through
it keeps the kiss warm,
but doesn't spoil its charm. . .

If you could leave the kiss
for an unsuspecting windowsill-goer
to happen upon and
coax a smile out of,
or maybe a tear.
Maybe the slightest gasp of fear
that their kiss will escape
if they open the bag too fast. . .

If you sat in the shadows
and watched their gasping
and frantic grasping at
their lost expression of love,
the broken wing to their dove;
how long would you watch them
teeter on the edge of lust,
regret, and longing?

Until their head was spinning
and you were left grinning
to yourself because you know
they've already hopelessly fallen
despite their elaborate battle
for balance?

Isn't solid ground an illusion after all?
Aren't we all caught in the fall?

As for kisses left in paper bags
and perched in hiding spots, well. . .
Kisses are tricks of nature
designed for those moments
when words become superfluous,
or so some famous poet said.