the blissful kiss
of the truth
is so hard to miss.
I sit and I reminisce how divine
that moment tasted.
I ask for another drip...

the kiss, of what is,
the graceful wisp of
what is,
the golden ray beaming down.
the lighter blues hinted with
a spot light.
I sit and I remember it,
how it felt upon my lips
and how my heart ached for more.

my heart got a glimpse
of pure love, again.
I know at birth I witnessed it,
and at death, each moment in between
these, it seems to be here too.
well, I actually know it is.
I've kissed

the love of what is.
all of it.
what this is. its a pureness so few
can ignore, fewer tend
to barely hear a sound.
we are clouded by loud thoughts
and culture.
though its in every one of our
moments. this bliss

we miss it.
this fire lit in our bowels,
this passion for breath,
and ***,
and children,
and death.
we miss the nature of things
and its divine imprint on our
beings.
we miss kissing,
the faint blissfulness of what is.