Poetry by Joe Gustin

        Mortal Kiss

        I think it was Scotland 
        a thousand years ago 
        when I first met you.
        Your hair was red then 
        as was the setting sun
        that saw our first mortal kiss.
        
        We were so young 
        so new to our flesh 
        that in every touching
        there were new beginnings,
        of lands to explore.
        Your eyes smiled the same
        even then.
        
        I think it was in Russia 
        where we were next to meet.
        A motherland of hope
        embraced us at our feet.
        We were only older this time
        by ten years, and so much more
        time spent in our discoveries.
        Your smile could see into me
        as it always had.
        This time I took better notice.
        
        Time over Time like waves that
        rush over each other
        washes us into 
        each others arms.
        Over and over 
        like sunlight on clover
        four leafs
        four arms 
        four eyes 
        and on 
        till we finally discover time 
        is not linear or our enemy. 
        It finds 
        it binds
        us to its bosom.
        
        In the many faces
        and hearts that I have lived in.
        To your eyes I spoke silently 
        the thoughts I had not shared.
        I will speak them now and for 
        all eternity.
        Forgive me, for not saying them earlier
        I am just now
        remembering, the words.
        
        Joe Gustin ©
        Copyright 12/19/00


        1842

        Do you remember Christmas in England 
        ‘twas London I’m sure
        your name was Samantha then 
        and I was Sam
        and did our friends
        make merry of that.
        
        No matter, they were good friends 
        of poor cloth and rich love.
        
        Remember when we went home shopping
        after six when the stores were closed
        and before their doors we made our bed.
        Candles were but a penny then. 
        When the passerby’s had good times 
        then so did we.
        Bread for a smile
        milk for the same,
        wine on special occasions.
        
        Do you remember how small the
        doorways were in winter
        bigger ones for summer
        medium ones for the seasons
        in between and for each their own reason.
        Remember the only night we spent apart 
        in the separate doorways of our anger.
        Only once, just that once.
        
        Do you remember the winter of 1842
        and no one who passed us by 
        was happy with their lives.
        When the cold came like a thief.
        We huddled 
        we cuddled 
        in the warmth of the hearth
        that was our bodies heat.
        From that doorway we stirred no more
        lost for the sake of a penny
        worth of heat.
        
        Joe Gustin ©
        Copyright 01/05/01






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