Easter brings you; Christmas too,
to see your family and your friends.
Among the latter I’m the first
to miss you when your visit ends.
We meet, and eat and drink in pubs
where I consume what I can’t keep;
I hunger as your beauty
grows unfathomably deep.
I would lean in and kiss you
but I fear you might resist,
although I have a feeling
there were moments when
we might have kissed.
 

We might have kissed
and crowned our friendship;
wreathed it with withheld desire,
knowing all the while the risk
of banking such a fatal fire;
knowing too how distance doubles
yearning; or can drive a wedge
between the best intentions
of a tender parting pledge. But,
if you felt inclined to kiss me
be assured I’d not resist:
life is short and no one dies
regretting being kissed.