Flash memory of a long forgotten kiss.
Your lips,
uncountable passages through the canyon, through the salt.
Vulnerable verbs, inside the warmth I see the breaches.
Which sound speaks to the drop and never tastes it?
Your lips,
into the emptiness and something above, flutters.
Closer, its the oasis or the delusion?
The sand is jealous of time,
inside the hourglass trapped.
Now means your lips.
I was wandering around an old cinema where a friend of mine works when suddenly a pair of lips appeared at the small hole in the wall in the big screen while a crew was doing some screen tests for the afternoon show. I took the shot remembering my ever first stolen kiss inside a cinema. I was seventeen back then. After that i wrote the above poem too.
