The nature of a kiss is in a meadow where the grasses are long and wispy like soft, blonde hair from a mother in the kitchen or a baby, laughing in a crib. It is a stream that smells faintly of patchouli soap that laps at silted banks and greyish stones with rounded sides. It is birds hanging in the sky, and if you focus on the blue, they become a kaleidoscope erupting - a spectacular tessellation of bird, sky, space. It is also the churning surface of a lake inside you with livid waters.

The nature of a kiss is on a beach where the sand does not burn the pads of your feet. It is the ocean that plays against you and the salt in your eyes. It is the pipers scuttling along the shoreline – ballerinas twirling effortlessly and with immaculate grace. It is the hope of the future, the raking lashes of the past, and every moment in between, and it is beautiful there.