Some time ago I had a friend that I played the greatest game with. We would give each other projects to do, you had a two days to complete it and then had to send your work to the other person. It was a way of keeping your mind working creatively on something small and just for yourself. Having someone waiting for your response to the prompt was just the incentive to keep you on your toes. Some how we've stopped doing this. Life's gotten in the way, schedules, conflicts... the usual. Today I came across a little poem he wrote for one of his pieces. The assignment was: Tell me about your first kiss.
This is what he wrote:
i was a boy
a mop of hair and not much else;
more of a fool then than i am now,
"and that is saying something"
you might say and you'd be right
but at least i knew what i wanted.
in the corner of a stone wall,
in the crotch of a splitting dogwood in the corner,
my shoulder blades against the rough layers of shale and granite,
in that corner, a kiss.
long and wet and warm,
deep as the ocean,
it is the place i am trying to return to.
it is home
