Your neck. I want to kiss it.
And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you'd read this letter with your lips.
My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.
A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear.
The dream, alone, is of interest. What is life without a dream?
A kiss, when all is said, what is it? A rosy dot placed on the 'I' in loving; Tis a secret told to the mouth instead of to the ear.