Dec 2015
OF ALL THE KISSES IN ALL THE WORLD, SHE HAS TO WALK INTO MINE!
I kissed you in
Islip & Liss.
Then once again in
Syathling, Shipton & Pershore.
Where ever I kissed you
I only ever wanted to
kiss you
more.
I kissed you in
Amberly & Arundel.
Once, I kissed you in
Swale & Sway.
I kissed you all over
in many various places
that I cannot remember
today.
I only remember
the kisses
scattered all over England
refusing to fade away.
These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
I kissed you in
Islip & Liss.
Then once again in
Syathling, Shipton & Pershore.
Where ever I kissed you
I only ever wanted to
kiss you
more.
I kissed you in
Amberly & Arundel.
Once, I kissed you in
Swale & Sway.
I kissed you all over
in many various places
that I cannot remember
today.
I only remember
the kisses
scattered all over England
refusing to fade away.
These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
***
These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
