The Kiss

by on November 13, 2021 :: 0 comments

photo "A Kiss: An End/A Beginning" by Tyler Malone

The courtly cavalier stood transfixed in a dead silence that echoed the somber stillness of my castle’s cataleptic enchantment.  How could he be the arrant inherent inerrant declarant heir apparent he him hymn nara to my nari narayana duende dawning on she her hurrah it’s my prince charming knight in shining armor amor moribund minus white steed come doyen to break all the sueño spells yes yes and wake doyenne Rosamond-me?

Had the century of my hundred yearlong insomniac sound asleep fast passed at last?  Had this intimate integration been fated to be by congenital spinnings of wheel after wheel winding untangling weaving the peripheral threads of our deceptively disparate ways through the boson wildernesses of bob bob bobbin existences ratcheting round to overlap encounter rendezvous synchronize subtilize unite merge center our Cupid-to-Psyche-selves?

Was I I enough he sufficiently he to fully we be freely be in the ample everafter of my aleatoric talesend?

By what propulsive torque had our individual meridians intersected to imperceptibly coalesce into such a bond?

Or who knowing what a hundred years agoneby had heretofore hitherthitherly written our coterminous destinies into pleiotropic pathways so intricately reticulated that we had had we to follow the frets?

Was this ever so long longueur approaching its high time denouement?

As this chivalric prince-was-he-valiant-liege-or-perfunctory-impostor trembled at the brink of my chaise longue bed, momentaneously immobilized in his momentous momentum, the pulsating moment seemed never to end.


With a deliquescent shiver the prince arched his sighing lips and kissmet Rosamond’s yawning yearnings as my eyelids all aquiver slit open to steal a glint.

The whole hundred years of my waiting had not primed me for the ebullient philter filter to come pouring copiously through and through.

The caliber of his smashing smooch osculated me out of where I had lain lilywhite rosebudly imbedded in delitescent sleepsweetdreams deathlysnowpale in no-collational-similitude to what was avalanching hereandnow on Rosamondme.

But then fairytales don’t finish just any old way, do they?

editors note:

It ends, it always does, and never the way it’s supposed to. For the best and worst, that’s the end. But there’s the beginning… ~ Tyler Malone

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