If only they could see me now, they’d be so jealous. I know they would. They wouldn’t be able to believe their petals.
You. Up there. Eyes on you. Everyone taking you in, your waxy green leaves, your spikes, your fruit. Who would want to buy you and yet they did and then put me up on high for all to see and walk under.
They’ve never had looks like this, eyes wet and admiring, eyelids winking, hands reaching up to caress me. They stand beneath me and kiss and kiss and kiss. A hurried peck, a big wet one, tongues out, tongues in, heads bobbing right and left unsure of which cheek to go for, noses and foreheads knocking each other.
You should see the eagerness in their eyes, the disappointment when no kiss comes and their eyes turn away. I make them smile, laugh, sweat, cry, nod, shrug, hug, wince, duck and maneouvre this way, that way.
No one ever told me I could do this. I’ve never felt so powerful. I wonder what I could get them to do next.
- Why we kiss under the mistletoe (blogs.vancouversun.com)
- Plant Appreciation #010 Mistletoe Special (wearecultivate.wordpress.com)
- Mistletoe By Walter de la Mare (1913) (renardmoreau.wordpress.com)
- Would You Kiss a Stranger Under the Mistletoe this Christmas? (bitesizedclips.wordpress.com)