He bestows upon her a kiss and does she receive it, taste the possibilities in the honeysuckle nectar glossing his lips. A chrysanthemum blooms within her, unraveling its imperial petals ripe with possibility. She dreams of where they may be, thirty years from now, leaflets in a willow breeze. A house to begin, she thinks, perhaps by the lake. Or in the city, mums overlooking the shimmering morning sea. She will extend the white canopy and pull out a folding table onto their perfect little balcony. From there, they will watch the sea turn in the embrace of the sky, a brilliant blue affair. Some days they will watch them quarrel and paint the horizon a slate sheet of misery. This kiss will take them places they have yet to see.

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She hangs suspended from the moment by red threads coiling into dreams of futures forthcoming. They find themselves on a fresh winter street. Touched by the first snow, he will cup her apple cheeks and wipe white powder tears away. If a honeyed giggle rises to their ears, she will turn his face away from seeking glances under lashes. Baby, look at me.  She will say. He will stuff their clutching hands into the damp pocket of his frock and protect her from Snow’s curious caress. And she will pull him in against preying gazes, perform a delicate trip into his ready embrace. Furtive gazes now retreating, satisfaction will bleed into haste. She will hang their world upon her strings and weave him a gilded vambrace.

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If he chooses to set sight upon one else, will she let him reel away? But of course. She will look upon the bountiful pond, and the dancing carp will flick droplets at her feet. Hooked on her line, he will be blissfully free. She may open a book of poetry and watch his glistening body emerge fettered and loose. What a delightful image will she be, her skin boiling in decadent misery. Her tears will blister pages upon pages, and her rod shall wheeze along to the crank she turns. Then opportunely, she will pick up the slack before he throws the hook, and reel him in before he chances to leave. She will free him to the ocean and follow him into the deep. Do you love me? She will breathe into his kiss. A bargain has been struck, melted between their waxing lips. Her lips seal him to her destiny.

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With the coming spring, the kiss pollinates her heart and the fields of their summer house. She will pull the linen off his shoulder as she balances on his back, reaching for the pine tree. I’m going to fall! She will shriek. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. He will hold her by the shoulders, and she will rise through the parakeet green. Once she reaches the cones, they will join their children underneath the tree. Picking the pinyon slivers out of their conical house, she will kiss the pine nuts into his awaiting lips. Their children, pulling the delicate stems out of their blossoms, will suck the coral honeysuckle flower between their teeth. With hands sticky with nectar, they will reach for her neck and climb on his back, where they will capture perfection in the sound of their laughs.

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This is the life she has created for them, and of course, so has he. He too, shall hate all who dare pursue her. Let no man take her, not time, the most unforgiving teacher. And when his charcoal hair becomes spent cinders white and gray, she will depart to let him bask in his sweet despair. How will he mourn, pull his hair and grind his teeth. All who see him will remark, ‘What a lonely creature.’ Her pictures will be his only—

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“Soo, what do you think? I know it’s a weird flavor, but it’s my favorite.” He looks at her with an expectant grin.

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“It’s pretty good! Not gonna lie I did think it was going to taste terrible, but I’m pleasantly surprised.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.

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“I’m glad you agree. Oh, oops. Let me wipe that straw real quick.” He plucks a resistant napkin out of the aluminum box sitting between them to wipe the straw poking out of his cup clean. Indirect as it may be, their kiss, to her, had been everything.

” It’s COVID, you know. No offense-I just want to be safe.” And so, their kiss sits in its crumpled white embrace, in the yellow bin of their canteen.