The Kiss The moment of anticipation is part of the magic.  It’s like standing on the high diving board, waiting for absolute stillness. There is the certainty that a beautiful natural thing is about to take place. A thick short glass with dew forming on the outside.  Ice cubes that look like huge raw diamonds that have had their edges softened by the gentle persistent flow of a stream. The glass is filled with color, with longing.  The color is like old copper, like autumn leaves in a rain barrel, like honey.  The longing is for peace. Then, the kiss. Electric eels swim on the tongue.   The tears of an Indian Princess.   The piss of angels on Valentines Day. A rough warm snake crawls to the belly.  Sherman’s gentle March to the Sea.  Scottish lava lovingly destroys Pompeii. God’s bitter love. The Miracle Solvent coats the rusty machinery.  The heart isn’t just beating, it’s playing the drum riff to ‘Be My Baby’ by the Ronettes. Hurt is put in perspective.  Faults are forgivable.  Every song is your song. Hope is an option. I am handsome, and at ease. Another double, please.