How Hard Should You Kiss a Woman?

A young boy's question

Photo by James Bold on Unsplash

Hard enough to make her feel it, to print a message on the carbon paper of her skin. When the kiss has stopped, when the world

has restarted and eyelids have fluttered open like cherry blossom butterflies, she must feel it, during

interstate traffic and at the office, despite the gazes of hunter-gatherer men, she must feel the kiss’s lingering ghost like a petal bandaging

a small cut. The world will do all it can to make her forget your kiss, that is the way of other men and enticements competing

for your home, they will come with pitchforks and devious intentions to ransack your house, they intend to snatch

the place you lay your head, your kiss must be strong like a man shutting the door on old vices, like a soldier standing

watch, you must be present when you are not present. How hard should you kiss a woman? Hard enough that

she stops fading and loves herself through the fog on her bathroom mirror, hard enough she sits down

from the rushing and toiling to save her expenditure, kiss her with the message of go-take-a-hot-bath, with

the love of I’ll-read-to-you-while-you-soak, with the care of I-want-nothing-from-you-I-want-something-for-you.

How hard should you kiss a woman? Hard enough to make her head lean on your shoulder, hard enough that her fingers weave

on the loom of your hand and her hair blows softly like grass on an open prairie just before thunderheads crack

open to release rivers of rain, diminish all pain in the hot humid stroke of a second like lightning caterpillaring through

the sky, lids shut, taken by the swollen lips of lasting and everlasting, a freeze-framed moment captured by time-stopping desire.

How hard should you kiss a woman? Just hard enough.

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Hey, I’m Roman. I’m working on my debut novel, 20xx, a work in magical realism. I write on Substack.