Blown Kisses Are Better: For Lindsey Buckingham, September 2003

Under the scorching spotlight sun, this fan stands fearing losing sight of a star. Behind, watchers arm themselves with binoculars. Our eyes lock. Lips prepare for salty launch pad palms depositing lover's rockets. Arms rise carefully. Wrist rotate positioning invisible spacecrafts parallel to the earth. Hot breath blasts kisses flying, floating in orbit untouched by gravity before colliding. Now, one supernova sits in a constellation of safe jolts and virtual crashes propelled by two who force breath simultaneously intent on observing the resplendent disappearance the momentary flash of a first kiss. Pores rise becoming Braille revealing how a married stargazer feels weightless once more.