Image: The Magic Tree on the Grave by Entrangerre
He buried her kiss.
For thirteen months
it stayed hidden.
She did not know
it was lying there.
He did not tell her.
When it was time,
after she fell asleep,
he dug the kiss up
and pressed it
into a little box
he especially made
full of cotton.
He walked to the garden,
dug a two kiss deep grave
under her favorite tree and
repeatedly chanted her name.
He returned to the house,
the bed, went to sleep
and never woke up.
Next year, still mourning
and aching for his return,
she felt through the open
window, a gentle wind
blowing through her tree-
and red and sweet,
a thousand kisses,
embracing her,
singing her name.
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