Besos Frijoles

I´m quite fond of butterfly kisses. They always part from their sender with a heartwarming innocence, and they are received just the same. Even when shared between two lovers they simply capture the purity of their hearts´desire. But of course these precious gifts are best when they come from the eyelashes atop the big, hopeful eyes of a child. Every young heart knows that their love is wanted and worth receiving. If only we well-worn hearts had the faith of a child.

But I´ve recently found myself craving a different type of kiss--los besos de frijoles negro. Yes, black bean kisses. They still come with the same innocence, and their giver is just as hopeful. But beneath the black residue that they leave, there lies another message. It´s what I learn when the puckered lips of a three year old, bearing the leftovers of her dinner, find my own lips wihout hesitation. They impart a bit of her mess, and although it feels quite out of place, it momentarily becomes my own. But in a second´s time, my hand wipes away the traces of a learning eater, and I do so with joy because they were gladly given to me. For they come from a willing heart, one that wants to love just as she is, one that finds no need to hide what she´s been eating.

I just can´t get enough besos frijoles; perhaps because they remind me that I am a learning lover.