Shaking hands
Should be enough
To show trust and feelings
But it cannot give vent to real emotion
The hand is used to doing all other things
Is too far
From the points of taste and smell
At arm’s length from the brain and heart
To rub noses
Like Eskimos and Maori
Looks silly now, isn’t it
But there is nothing to say
About the taste of the nose
The grisly triangle protruding from the face
A nuisance in winter
Just a friend in garden and kitchen
With eyes we can signal from a distance
But if we come too close
Everything is twice, aren’t they
And ears are too far apart to join in
So we kiss on the mouth
The temple of voice
Treasurer of succulence
Owner of breath
Vault of the powerful tongue
Its portals are firm and strong
A ripeness alone in the face
In women, a haunting red tenderness
Taste not to compare with wild strawberries
Yet, if the taste of kisses went away
And strawberries were here year round
Half the joy would be gone from the world
When mouth engages mouth
In all its silliness
Breath collides with breath
Taste harmonizes with taste
Warmth is enwarmed
Tongues command a soundless language
Nameless things now have shape and form
And have a life in
The pitiful fault of speech
Dublin, Ireland, August 2018
