Goodnight?s Lover Kiss

by Robert (Bobby) Thomas Thompson

My goodnight's kiss -- now he is a loving stranger,

It ended the ever watchfulness of my sweet my guardian angel,

Whose banjo lobs, sprung sprightly -- I felt the dewdrops, naught

Yet of sorrow; -- o' to christen that last glance, the ultimate

Chance of finale from an ogle dance, one, whose twitch lies over

A final, fading view, stretched out to my lost lover, tendered,

What had once streaked from not his but yet that other -- whose bind

That this kiss surely puts asunder; its solitary note, the kiss darkling,

This one estranged instrument of a band slays me unjustly playing,

O' goodnight; so morning comes and my card deck stacked is, but not

By whosoever is paying, -- yet, yesterday's oddity remains always, --

No, it is there to contrast whether or whatever us two lovers have in

This less than final impasse, fantastic is it all or strange in estranged.

This goodnight's kiss of loving, what's bare, hard, mien,

Scarcely, o' stranger, you ended my vigil, my wonder; -- and with

That or in kind, is the sign for what each oblong orb, mine, perched --

Has yet seen, and that whichever means hasn't the strength of sinewy

To angle free or be apart, whatsoever, from otherwise loose; -- this

Moment has neither exchanged with itself, to boot the first sharp

Newfangled pang of sorrow, yet that verily is the dark place from

Where I (roost and) rose before and is from there -- there

Aren't walls, this kiss's abyss; nevertheless tis there, where're

Its espirited dream began; -- o' only by way of that, in regret,

Had my agony been entrenched; and so neither shall I await its

Flight, not without a fight, for surly -- whether haughty, singly

Mysterious be, that melancholy note of wholly sorrow juxtaposes

All my emotion, me; inasmuch, it be that there today I see -- it hardly

A gray area to start (as a quake) -- and o' me, what morrow shall be.

Goodnight's kiss hath ensued, o' my darkly lover, my loving

Stranger, dare I hope nothing ends? save graceful watchfulness, -- that,

That now never comes to hover over me -- my less than tainted sainted self,

Sentry-less, guarded less than, what near ne'er again guards this nothing elf,

Against you, yours, my goodnight kisser, -- naught moot but mammoth, --

Mate, whenst shall our sated sentry-less kissing love match begin again.

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