One hundred years ago I kissed you. I am ruined. What good is my life now, without your lips? Once, I could suck the juice of a pomegranate, or lick the ice from the edges of a thistle. Now, my lips remember nothing. My tongue sleeps fitfully in my mouth, awaiting your return. Can I sail the black lakes of time? Traverse starlight and shatter moonbeams to retrieve that kiss? One hundred years ago your fingers lingered around my neck, tracing a strand of kisses you’d left there. Today, I raise a stole of fox around my shoulders & hang in an eternity of longing.