Sometimes I’m a romantic creature … okay, who’m I trying to fool here? … always I’m a romantic creature. Forever and ever I’ve been madly shivered up by the sweet gesture, small or large or somewhere in between. I have made those gestures and had them made for me and some of them have been over-the-top — whoa, Nelly, way up and way off the precipice of mad-for-you, with a celebratory shout of “For you are my beloved” — and some of them have been tiny and odd, discernible only to me and the person whose lips I wish to kiss.
The kiss on the lips is a delight, yes, but lips on the small of the back are a more powerful and shiversome delicacy, by far. Then again, it’s all good, really, isn’t it? Good and sweet, dear and yaysome, to live in a world where one doesn’t have to choose, where all gestural iterations are available, possible, performable, receivable.