For a moment,
it is just a hand
cupping a face,
brown eyes locked on blue eyes,
a gentle touch like a misformed promise,
if he pauses to think,
this moment will be forgotten,
lost in the blue of the sea
and the sand of the desert
Kiki raises a hand,
tentative and gentle,
to cup his own face in hers,
opposite side of his,
and when he leans in,
all she breathes is Mitsuhide,
the dust of the ballroom kicked up
and long forgotten,
the way he smells like the glint of steel,
of sweat,
of something unmistakably sweet
in a beautifully subtle way
and when he pulls back,
kiss two seconds gone already,
Kiki wishes she had a century
to savor
this moment
and the kiss that lie before it
and instead,
she sees wide brown eyes,
and a nervous apology,
heartache already falling from his lips
before she can grasp
the sweetness
of the moment before