From the archives – The Kiss by Diane Sahms-Guarnieri

The Kiss

Ivy halos his hair.
Draped over her ankles
vines dangle like willow leaves
there is immortality here
entwined outwardly — inwardly

White as moonlight on limbs
she is kneeling-death beside him
corpse face, eyelids closed
wears a shoulder-less robe
with tangent circles, some red as poppies,
no beginnings — no endings

Coal-curly hair. He is centered.
Face, a hidden sunrise
rectangles on his heavy robe
strength upon pillar of strength
black — white: absence — presence

Below their waists: circles — rectangles
merge, patterns intermingling,
as if his rectangles were doors
her circles — knobs
shapes fitting together, into each other
harmonious as sun, moon

One of his hands supports her cheek
the other like a weathervane points
to the temple of her wisdom, where
embedded flowers encircle her thoughts
as his lips, light as fallen leaves,
press against her snow covered cheek
they have entered each other: they are air

from Autumn Sky Poetry 19 — by Diane Sahms-Guarnieri

Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss.” 1907-1908. Oil and gold leaf on canvas. Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, Vienna, Austria.