We were playing miniature golf at my childhood course and you insisted on taking a full swing on every shot. Right there that should have told me something.
Although this was miniature golf, you had a caddie. I realize now that he was your boyfriend. He would estimate distance and hand you your club. No matter how far it was, he always gave you the same club (you only had one) and you always swung as hard as you could.
At the sixteenth hole, a complicated deal involving a mechanical Shiva whose six limbs rotated at different speeds, you kissed me, or rather laid your mouth on mine, to stop me from speaking.
On further thought, it was the latter: you laid your mouth on mine. It was only after a time that one could say we were kissing.
Also, I didn’t really dream this.