Kiss... A different one..

"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."

It was one of those usual walks in the park after work. It used to be nice to go to the park before dinner after a long day of work. Just walk and talk.

They used to be in this awful (yet awesome!) habit of debating just about anything. They had the interesting habit of dissecting ever issue with reason and logic—starting from the bigger world, bringing it down to individual level and then applying it to our own lives—was our favorite pastime. That night, the topic was romance.

"What the hell is a whisper-kiss, anyway?" She finally asked.

“Oh come on, you can’t be asking me this, you are supposed to be the romantic one here,” he replied.

She really don’t know what a whisper kiss is and it doesn’t sound very intriguing.

"I like the passionate kisses," he laughed out loud.

She joined in, "Yeah... THAT I know…"

They both laughed as the memories came back.

"No seriously... I really don’t know..." she insisted again.

He looked at her for a moment before slowly rising up from the park bench where they sat. He positioned himself so as to eclipse the sun on her back, and leaned his head and hovered it an inch from her neck, hanging above her shoulder blades.

Then, carefully, and ever so smoothly he pushed his cheek muscles forward so that they in turn pursed his lips. Gracefully, and ever so softly he grazed her neck, with his pursed lips and planted with great precision the tinniest quiver of a kiss, like the lightest spore wisp of a dandelion that ever did grace a lover's collar.
Her cheeks released his lips which fell back to a smirk.

"A whisper-kiss, my dear, is a kiss so softly planted, so perfectly executed, that it can scarcely be called a kiss at all. A kiss so quaint the senses confuse touch with sound,” he said quietly. "And thus the phrase ‘All prayers are whisper-kisses to the sun'."

So.. Now on... I don’t think of kisses the same way anymore.

-omi