I’d been kissed before –
not that it mattered.
But that day, in the shade of that house,
beneath those closed shades –
you kissed me.
You kissed me and you kissed me –
you kissed me again and again.
And if I swoon, walking through the days,
and if I seem to be in a giddy golden haze –
if I’m dizzy at all –
it’s not because of the spinning of the Sun
over my head –
it’s not because of the turning of the Earth –
that dirt moving beneath my feet.
But it’s because of the spinning of my heart,
my heart that first moved off its lonely course
that first bright day in the shade
when you kissed me –
again and again.