(A preface: In 2005, a kiss knocked my socks off and I responded with a poem and a piece of abstract art. He couldn't meet me, yet he responded with a sweet and artful letter that let me down. How dejectedly I received his piece of snail mail and how deeply the perceived rejection cut through me.
Nonetheless, I still like to read the poem that I wrote for that moment at spoken word events. "(I call it) MAGIC," is what I titled it. Recently, as I was heading to another poetry reading, I decided to quickly update this piece based on a new, lighter experience.)
(I Still Call it) MAGIC
Your kiss
like black, spectacled reflections
under a sunny, San Diego sky as local beats
persisted and pervaded and night fell upon
our shoulders
and upon a cityscape
where starlight twinkled
and moonshadows danced
out and over
a half-pipe.
