Trilogy of the First Kiss

 Trilogy of the First Kiss

A lyrical journey through Rain, Mountains, and a Crimson Evening

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I. In the Rain

When my lips
First touched yours,
The raindrops paused—
As if love had stirred
Something ancient and vast.

Each drop
Wrapped around us,
Whispering secrets
Only lovers can trust.

Wet lashes fluttered,
And your breath was wine,
As if heaven itself
Fell into line.

Your lips—
The warmth of a monsoon flame,
Mine—
The trembling of a whispered name.

Rain trickled
Through your hair to mine,
And that kiss
Turned the night divine.

Lightning blushed,
Thunder grew shy,
As our kiss
Lit up the sky.

Since then,
Every drop reminds me still—
Of that first warm touch
And time standing still.

II. In the Mountains

When my lips
First touched yours,
The valleys echoed
A timeless verse.

Mist curled softly
Around our breath,
And silence spoke
Where words had left.

Your lips were fire
In the mountain chill,
Mine melted
With a hungry will.

No need to speak,
No need to move—
Even the wind
Paused for love.

Pine trees stood
As witnesses still,
While we carved forever
On that hill.

The sun peeked through
Snow-draped skies,
But we were lost
In each other’s eyes.

That kiss,
High above the world’s unrest—
Was the mountain's heart
Laid bare on my chest.

III. In a Crimson-Tinted Evening

When my lips
First touched yours,
The sky blushed red—
A dusk of fire,
A hush widespread.

Flames of amber
Danced through the air,
As if the sun itself
Had lingered there.

Your face—
The glow of a dying day,
Your lips—
The promise that light won’t fade away.

No words we spoke,
No sighs were heard,
Yet the sky turned poetry
Without a single word.

Birds paused mid-flight,
Clouds turned to wine,
And the world collapsed
Into your lips and mine.

Your kiss—
The last warmth before night’s veil,
My heart—
Sailing that twilight sail.

To this day,
Every evening glow
Brings back your touch
In a crimson flow.

Epilogue: The Kiss That Time Remembers

One kiss,
Three skies—
Rain-soaked, snow-brushed,
And bathed in firelight.

Yet all of them
Lead me back to you.

For love does not live
In calendars or clocks,
But in the echo
Of that very first touch.