A crown of kisses lays nestled upon your brow.
Those being the Nine Kisses of Fortune.

One in front,
the center of the brow,
this being the eye of love.

Two to set it off,
so the eye doth twinkle,
one for dark, the other light.

Six in all is what now is left,
the simpler things,
and a hint of the Never Kiss
which is that of death.

Three for the power,
the I does see.
What some call luck,
but is just fate for me.

Four to remind us,
of the sorrow we hide away,
sadness that night is not eternal
that we must face the star
shining down upon us every day.

Five to believe
that there can be hope
for something grand
between you and me.

Six is the number
by which the thought
is given seed.
Impulse blind and pure.

Seven is for that
which will forever be unsure.
Curiosity will always endure.

Then the matter of the eighth
Which gives fear to those impulses
and harnesses them with the need for caution.

Nine is for all those who are left out,
those only hinted at in the piddle of this rhyme.