Chrysanthemum Kiss
It was no secret
that she was a flight risk
and would be true
to none of us,
but under her balcony,
we thirsted for a token.
She leaned back her head
pressed fingers to lips, let go,
and sent a single kiss flying
up into the night.
Each of us, expecting to be
the lucky target, swung
our arms back like wings,
raised our heads, and pointed
our lips skyward. At its apex,
invisible, her kiss burst,
shattering our expectations
but in the next moment
renewing our hopes
as it gave rise to kisses
by the thousands. In seconds
they vanished, not a peck
left, and she, seeking amusement
elsewhere, disappeared
into the night, leaving us gaping
and parched in her wake.
***
What the Chandeliers Want
So badly to dance, desperate
to set loose from the ceiling,
they are bewitched
by the dress balls,
partners swaying,
swishing beneath their lights,
the shimmer and aura
of glamor and romance,
their own reflection
in the polished wood floor,
so much they wish
to be unhooked, unleashed,
their crystal gently jingling,
to float among the couples
in time to the music,
the waltz, the mood.
And one morning after,
lights still off after the gala
the night before, comes
a quiver, jarring them
awake. It turns into a major
rumbling, and unaware
of the earthquake in progress
they dance in the daylight,
hanging now by slender
threads of electrical wiring,
hardly alarmed, though,
as lights flicker on and off
until the lot of them
give way, crash, shatter,
go to pieces but worth it
they dreamily conclude,
before expiring, worth
every minute, every shard.
