I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.
To confirm your presence.
I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.
I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.
I smooth your face. I kiss your face.
It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.