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“Are you here for the right reasons?”
he asks me.
I zoom back into focus
on his perfect, chiseled chin.
I want that rose. I want it
more than I want the lights
to stop blinding me
when I look away from him.
“I’m here because I trust the process,”
I say. Not to him, but to
America.
Me on this couch,
America on their couches,
not far, just on the other side
of the lens.
“I’m here to find my husband,
for love,” I say.
And he kisses me, eyes wide
open, and his lips taste
like the rose-flavored
lip gloss
of the girl before me.
Kristina Patterson 
Katie Mullin