the very word itself
is leaning in, touching:
the way that k pushes up close to that i;
a close and personal thing.
I think of the way I kiss my baby
in the morning; I breathe her in
and my lips meet her warm brow
with a burst of endorphins.
and I remember too
how your friend came to you;
in the garden, in the night,
his eyes avoiding yours.
he came close to your face,
beloved brother,
close enough to whisper,
but he didn’t even speak.
no need; his kiss alone
sentenced you to death.
elisabeth pike 