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.
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