I would kiss you, you know why, I would give you willingly.

Yes, I would give it to you if, of course, there was still the habit of doing so, not the colloquial, usual, vulgar gesture that the last twelve months have led to the hole in memories. If it hadn't slipped into the stuff before. Since when have we not given one to the partner, to the partner, to whom we hate, to the rival? How long have we not caressed ourselves a kiss? You will tell me that we will not all be sad about the disappearance of this practice. However, our non-linguistic communication will become so impoverished that we still do not realize it.

There was something in the home that the parents gave us when they went from home, to school, to the journey, and that they always had the hope of separating us from them and of reuniting us, and that they promised us an infernal home, wherever they accompanied us, and that, for example, we could do what we who live with the simple memory of those who lived.

There was a mature drop and often a kiss of odor to old mustard and cheap perfume. As soon as we got home, he squeezed his face between the two hands and supported us in her, with her beautiful child, her long kiss, the vague stomach of her monkey, the sensation and, above all, the smell, floating through the long hours.

It was usually a terribly ordinary way of greeting between family members and friends, something that I never refused, an agreed ballet, a regular way of telling you that you're very familiar, that I come to see you, that I'll hear you soon, good morning. Sometimes the canvas was a simple contact, other times accompanied by the sound, and others, still linking with the arms. Every moment, he created a space between his comrades, as if he defined a record of relationships.

Things weren't that simple among their peers, there were people who used to say hello (those who didn't get bored were the Muatx and the Muatx), those they liked, those who didn't, those who preferred to shake their hand or both at a time the hand-kiss, or neither. Oh, how many evil spirits had there been that they had never managed to harmonize, that they had preferred both a kiss and a hand!

Sometimes kisses were also a manifestation of oppression and submission. My master, my beloved and elect, came to see him as if he did a favor or as if he did not deny him; he always chose, for the sake of loneliness, to give him or to receive him.

They were even seen among enemies, with the long and underlined kisses, with the white laughter, announcing long disputes, it is not me who is evil, but you who are presented. They were symbols of political agreements, like between Brejnev-Honecker and Churches -Domenech. They were sensual promises, when we supported them at the bottom of the face, so close to the curling of the lips.
There were also points of submission or betrayal. Kisses of communion. Cultural pottas, Madonna and Britney, Serge and Jane. The transgressive kiss of Toulouse Lautrec. The sad bottle of Lichtenstein! Pale angels never surrendered.

Affection, protocol, hostility, submission, closeness, falsehood, love, friendship, desire, we need new codes to express them. “Kiss is the safest way to keep quiet while saying everything,” Maupassant said.

I would kiss you, you would know why.