To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand. Divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment.
Sometimes you have to find yourself. And when you do you realize that you may have lost what you wanted in the first place. And you find your self missing something, like a kiss or a word and you hate yourself for not being more forgiving. By then you realize that the one you hurt will never want you. And you know that when you face the uncertain horizon you do so with love that will never fade, but will always grace the intended from afar.
How did it happen that their lips came together?
How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts,
that the rose unfolds,
that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees
on the quivering summit of the hill?
A kiss, and all was said.