Sometimes I dream that I’m kissing a man.
Sometimes he’s tall.
Sometimes he’s broad.
Sometimes he’s dark.
Sometimes he’s rough.
Mostly, he’s sweet. He’s gentle. He’s funny.
My hair, though, is always long and brown.
Even in my dreams, there is no other version of me who is kissing a man.
She is happy to be kissing him. She is happy to be kissed by him. She is happy to exchange long, butterfly-hatching glances with him. She is happy, with him, in my dreams.
May she stay there forever.
