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Love in the Twenty-First Century
I remember the first time we kissed.
It was snowing out in October.
You leaned in
This is it--I remember thinking
"Can I kiss you?"
An unromantic, painful question at the time.
Yet, looking back,
It was perfect,
Akward,
And a fantastic act of chivalry.
I have been told it's dead.
People don't hold doors for me,
No one goes on dates,
And most importantly:
No one leans over on a snowy October afternoon to akwardly ask a woman for a kiss.
If you ask me?
You can take your booze,
And all the drunken hookups you want.
For me the perfect kiss exists
Somewhere in the past
Where chivalry creates akward conversations
And men tell me they love me before I do.
It's a place where holding hands is sometimes all you need.
Where words aren't important
And it's okay to cry.
Where your best friend is the same as your lover.
A place where life and love collide.
Into brilliant white, uniquely shaped snowflakes,
That gracefully coat your hair
On a perfect October afternoon.
