I thought, for no particular reason, that I'd start today off by sharing a poem that I love with you. But first, some gratitude, with all my heart.
To all my dear lovely readers, thank you for coming back to visit me here.
Thank you to J for the support and helpful ideas, for reading every post and for being my first commenter; to Femi for calling me and having such kind words; to Bahar for her constant support and for making the Instant Cup-o-Noodles I linked to last week and sharing the photos with me; to everyone who has said something to me in person or commented on my Facebook page or otherwise shared encouragement and love and brightened my day. Thank you for coming with me on this new adventure in the land of blogging!
And now, as promised, some poetry.
_The Archipelago of Kisses, by Jeffrey McDaniel
(from splinter factory)
We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on tress, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto - you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whiskey.
It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special place. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.
Images: Precipice by Marc Allante and Every Day With You by Hajin Bae.
Well, that's all for now. Check back next week for a purple plum torte and our recent stop in Boston. Enjoy your weekend!