(because we are on the road and we might miss them tomorrow night)
Last night from the 12th story roof we watched the people of Miami kissing. The citizens puckered up, shut their eyes, leaned in and boom! All over the city, kisses filled the skies—big and little smooches, love bites, ear tugs, and bottom lip sucking everywhere. All around us stars of every color flew into that’s—screaming Mimi’s and dandelion bursts, spinning wheels and swimming tadpoles—all of them charging into the skies and exploding. One kiss came up green and sparkly like Christmas, burst into shards of green glitter and froze in space for a beat. We grew silent, waiting to see what would happen next.
All night long, love exploded every time someone kissed someone—for the first time, for the billionth time, for forgiveness, for the taste of it, for good-bye. For whatever reason someone had to plant a little bit of love on someone else, a star ignited in the sky.
To the north, the night shimmered blue. And to the east, a thousand comets streaked and bumped, syncopated and wide-hipped as Celia Cruz. Hot suns sizzled over western skies. And from the roof, we realized that this is all that matters -- the planting of kisses. The rest of it is irrelevant—aggressive acts, the-push-my-ego-in-the-forefront acts, the let-me-hurt-you-cuz-you-hurt-me acts, the runaway-cuz - I-won't-hurt-again acts—exist because we desire to connect, to kiss, to explode! All across Miami—besos, besos, besos, besos—all the buildings and their lights, all the stars dressed in the sheerness of white cloud, all the fireworks filled the night with kisses.
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