Temple Kiss
       

Obituarial, novelty's wattage—
spirea, japonica—invades:

whetted, lacquered sparks
all reading the same book,

wedded to every mirroring meld.
I'm dizzy, but not with jealousy

this go-round. Why hemorrhage heaven?
Bees, yellow molars,

bluntly graze the dogwood's
greeny infant stars,

bruised promises
promiscuous & intent.

But, Evergreen, woolen boltage,
truest friend: ravel & persist

in this quailing, pastel time.
Recall our very first. Our broken rhyme.

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Copyright © 2014 Lisa Russ Spaar All rights reserved
from Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission