Dammit, why am I nervous?
I envy those that meet again and again and again.
I wish I wish I wish. I think to myself.
But then they carry the heavy price. The price of pretend.
My emails, my calls....
Dear Miss, do you sculpt? Do you paint or write? I asked.
I have an art. She says.
Ooh baby, nice answer I think to myself.
So I had to ask.
Do your lips taste like honey? Do your eyes carve the very soul?
She says that she is not afraid. She can dance and sing to me and draw me in to her web and I will be glad.
Very glad.
I drink pineapple. Is my very lame response.
I wait. The reply is not forthcoming.
I do not sulk because I cannot.
But I do wonder.
Then she replies and I know before I read her reply that we will be together.
Pleasantries follow.
Then there is that all too familiar door.
Fuck you door! My mind shouts.
I laugh inside.
Then I knock.
Time is near dead.
I can feel her looking through the peep hole.
I start to sweat.
Then the click.
The door opens and there she is.
I look by experience.
Her eyes will betray her soul I know.
Her eyes smile and I am dissarmed.
Shit!
I wonder how does she do it?
This beauty before me.
Does she know that this hulk adorse her?
Does she care?
She takes my hands and draws me near.
She smells like a field of flowers.
We kiss and my hands draw her close and she welcomes me with her arms pressing us even closer.
She bites her lip. Her eyes look up and they take me whole.
She devours me from the inside.
My back is charged and tingles by her command.
Her hips dance the fantastic and her waist is but a dream.
I can keep up I think.
I want, nay I need to drink the vision. Her eyes, her moist lips.
Her hands grab my boys quickly and firmly and my eyes widen with surprise.
Her warm and heavy whisper can command an army so I've heard and now I'm a believer as well.
Our lips are pressed together and my eyes are locked on hers.
I imagine a sunny day in a field of flowers. Then I fight the urgh to sleep. I see a tunnel. I have to fight to remain awake.
My head is wrapped in static but before I leave I give a gift to my muse. I wish I could give you what you gave me I think.