The most passionate kiss
that I ever saw
–and the longest!–
happened at the wedding
when Leonard O’Neal took a wife.
The bride’s Swedish father,
stern and adamantly opposed
to the whole affair,
though provoked,
was restrained by awe
at what he saw.
The lady was man-handled
like a whore bought for the purpose,
and she was putting out
for all that she was worth.
And but for the altar
before which they dallied
and the solemnity of erotic worship,
the wedding guests all felt
like begging the groom
to get him a room!
The horny groom
prolonged the matter
until his bride and he
were happily sizzling.
I’ve not seen the like
before or since.
I was party to the like
late the night before
Leonard O’Neal
was wed. Longer.
More intense.
Leonard O’Neal
left his party
to speak to me in private.
The unexpected kiss
he kissed me with
was a desperate affair–
hot, possessive,
totally giving,
sincere and sweet.
To be shocked and overwhelmed
and overcome by a kiss,
once and only once;
to love and be loved,
to know it in a kiss,
is as good as it gets.
I remember no kiss,
no moon, no night
as full or deep
or tender as
the kiss I got
from Leonard O’Neal
on his wedding eve.
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