fifty-five years of kissing
chores, fights, make-ups
two wars, countless pies
a near-divorce and three beautiful grand kids
what's it all mean, she says
her voice trembling, clinging to life
him next to her, paper-skinned, a deathbed
we're but temporary blips on a cosmic radar, she near cries
and every word burns like cigarettes in his eyes
we may be temporary, but it all adds up, my dear
his voice the strength and wisdom of ten thousand kings
would you never hold a flower,
knowing it would someday be dead?
and amidst an ocean of dreams and regrets
she smiles at his familiar warmth
the last, most alive kiss she ever got in this life.