If I had a pair of giant scissors, I’d use them to cut a huge marshmallow square of clouds and sky from a summer sunny Florida day and then I’d roll it up, with the full enclosure of its breezy warmth and southern smells still intact, and seal it in a giant jar, and tuck it away carefully in the back of my closet.
If I had a giant rake, I’d use it to collect a fresh morning wave of pure sea foam while the tide is still rolling in, and then spread it out to dry in the hot summer Florida sunshine. And then I’d carefully spread an overflowing bucket of your kisses evenly over it to sweeten it, as only your kisses could. And then I’d cut it into tiny heart-shaped squares of chewy, spongy salt-water taffy, faintly reminiscent of your lips. And then I’d seal those beautiful kiss-drenched candies in a giant jar, and tuck them away carefully in the back of my closet.
If I had a giant net, I’d use it to capture a million and one fluttering, flickering fireflies. And then I’d sit with them awhile, and charm them with stories of you and your sweet perfection. And then I’d seal those eager carriers of light in a giant jar, and tuck them away carefully in the back of my closet.
And, when the soft snow started to quietly fall in dancing flurries, on those long, moonless, cold winter nights in North Carolina, I’d dig through the back of my closet and take out my wonderful summer collection of giant jars and carefully unseal them.
I’d take out the soft blanket of summer warmth and spread it on the cool ground beneath a giant weeping willow tree. I’d take out the jar of magical fireflies and set them out beside it at the base of the tree. And I’d take out the jar of salt-water kisses and hand feed you until I’d satisfied your sweet tooth. And then we could snuggle in and curl up, wrap ourselves in our giant comfy blanket of Florida warmth, and make slow passionate love by firefly light, keeping each other safe and warm until the early morning sunrise breaks over the ocean’s horizon.