Kisses float through the air, wanting
to suffocate me.  Those same kisses
have the same feeling some doll feels
when it’s convinced it’s drowning
in a two-foot deep pool.  It’s 5’5.

5’5.  Compared to 5’3, two inches
shouldn’t make that
much of a difference, but it feels significant
to me.  The difference
feels like one of those trees
that has been around since forever
and has different branches and leaves sprouting,
and it just looks huge.  But it also feels like one of those hugs
you just needed because for nearly three months,
you were on the brink of crying, on the brink of—

The kisses smell like roses and a freshly cut lawn.  It
smells like Saturday chores on a Saturday morning
in a Caribbean household on one of those scorching hot days
where the windows and doors are slightly ajar,
and the cool breeze soaks in.  The kisses

dance at some point in the day
and sparkle in the night.  Imagine this:

the princess in her room, looking out
of her window, watching the kisses
sparkle at night, dreaming
of her prince, locked
in her own dungeon with a queen-
sized bed in the corner, with
a drawer filled with silk pyjamas.  The

kisses float throughout the sky
even when the sun has gone to rest.  I
should be resting.  Resting and waiting.
Waiting and watching.  Watching and—

The moon shouts in the star-filled sky.
It has always done that, yearning
for a balance.  For a want.  For a need.
A need to be needed by someone else.
A need not to have to ask someone to reply to it
before the sun goes down, before
something else clocks in for the night,
to be that protector for some.  A need
to be wanted.  To be yearned for.  A need
to be loved.  But it won’t get that.  No,
it thinks it won’t get that because it—
the moon—thinks its sparkles aren’t enough.
That it could be brighter, bolder.  That
it could be something it can never be—
like the sun that smiles so bright
even on the cloudy days.  The kisses.

The sweet kisses that want to numb the pain
in its—my—heart like a mother
who sees her child crying
under the covers in her room
and just wants to fix whatever
made her daughter cry.  The kisses fly away,

whisked away in the wind
in the winds that force the hand of whatever
weather channel to call for a weather warning.
It’s the same weather warning
that happens every other week in spring;
it’s lost its meaning at this point.  Now,

did you forget about the princess
from your imagination?  The one
in her room, looking out of her window,
watching the kisses sparkle at night
and dreaming of her prince?
Do you remember?  Well,
she’s now on her bed, her window
half-opened, her half asleep.
She’s still envisioning her prince
coming for her, sweeping her off her feet.
She’s dreaming of the man who would love her
“[…] just as Christ also loved the church
and gave Himself for her”*.  And eventually,
her prince finds her, and they both live
the lives they’ve envisioned.  Together.

* Ephesians 5:25, NKJV

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®.  Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.