The Last Kiss

A kiss can change the world,
said Paz.
But did he know
what it could cost?
Two mouths meet.
The walls begin to crack.
So they say.
 
The gods grow restless
on their marble thrones,
as if love itself
were a thorn in their flesh.
 
When Klimt clothed
a kiss in gold,
no blade sought
the painter’s head.
His lovers still embrace,
gold holding gold,
their tenderness
defying time.
 
And somewhere,
beneath a sacred dome,
two lovers touched their lips.
Steel answered.
The old guillotine
descended once more
upon humanity,
upon the very place
where tenderness bloomed.
 
Who guards the lips?
Who owns the breath
between two mouths?
What god demands
a lover’s blood?
 
Oh God, if love is a sin,
who taught the heart to love?
Two souls touch
across the distance.
No blade can sever
what passes between them.
Where hatred takes root,
their lips still meet.
Then the blade falls.
Somewhere,
a flower loses its shadow.