Magic

you are not

a song or

a photograph

you are not

something that

belongs on a

museum wall

you are not

saturday morning

coffee or driving

with the windows

rolled down late

at night

you are not sunsets

or a broadway show

you are not the thrill

of a hockey game or

the way it feels to

make someone you adore

laugh

you are not sunflowers

you are not sunshine

your beauty is an

illusion, and a damn

good one at that.

tan skin, ocean eyes,

and that boyish grin.

because once your cover

is blown,

your magic is

gone.