Your lips are a taste of heaven

A stolen kiss smacked her on 4th Avenue
between a dumptruck and a man in a van,
who took second glance into the car
and wondered at the morning lovers.

Her blush was colored soft amber,
from uncertainty of what had changed
to make him kiss her again and again
between buses and trucks.

Commuting and communing to work
from Brooklyn over Manhattan Bridge
he gathers strength for another touch,
another kiss and one last hug.

At a green light he stopped for the hug,
thinking time was enough for a peck,
savoring lips that granted him a hunch:
"Your kiss must be a taste of heaven."

Finally she went from his coupe
idling in a traffic-laden line,
he surged forward to catch another glimpse
of the girl who brought heaven to mind.

She fluttered away, looking for another,
he peered to her fore with wonder,
telling himself she'd be again with him,
so he'd taste the kiss of heaven.

-July 2005
Richard Aaron Wright