I kiss your hair, dark with olives and pomegranates and the smoke of campfires;
I kiss your brow, copper and good and crown-ready;
I kiss your eyes; my lips see you there in my princely robe, the most beautiful you;
My lips see me there, discovered, the most beautiful me;
I kiss your nose and your cheeks with three hummingbird kisses
And float upon the upwelling heat of our shimmering hills.

Ah, and there are your lips!  
Should I kiss them, or should I worship them only in my imagination?
These familiar paradises that restore me,
These sheltered valleys where I contentedly roam.
Ah, and there are your lips!