Kiss Me, Quick.
May 30, 2024
In my country
We don’t have mistletoe
We have sun-drenched terraces
Where the breeze whistles low
It is here
The luckiest of lovers meet
Running up the steepest of stairs
Their breathless their heartbeats more
It is here
their mouths hunger and eat
For it is considered bad luck
In my country
Not to kiss behind a washing line
With a fragrant bedsheet.
