Dear Mr. editor, Sir-
I, well...
I am, uh...
I am writing to say
That there are moments when he makes me smile so hard
That I grind my teeth to powder.
Like last night
When we did a slow groove
Under a blanket full of stars,
Wearing towels that smelled of chlorine and a dry red.
They were warm, moist, and felt nice to drunken skin.
Undulating and pliable like clay
He
Made
Me.
It was the first time
I had wanted
Anything
So
Badly.
He tasted like wet spices and sugar,
Familiar and yet
Exotic
Somehow.
Yearning from under a tangled web of
Auburn
Toward tricky and relentless
Azure eyes
And you know-
Just when my skin felt ready to unravel
Those eyes-
They hid him in a mysterious cloak
Like
Some Forbidden
Prize.
Sir, I am writing to say,
Well...
About the whole affair,
He and I,
Me and...
Him-
Bent back, doing a rounded tangle of pretzel pirouette
On a too red, too overstuffed couch like two
Broken
Ballerinas...all the while talking about that one song,
What was it? Or that painting or
Apples.
Yes, we talked and it was like
Cold water falling nervously and anxiously on a
Desperate
Tongue.
I remember
As if it were stained henna on my mind.
We were in a church
Upstairs under a low, dingy ceiling
Walls with words celebrating Christiandom.
He introduced himself
And when I told him my name
I could feel the warmth of the word as it left
His lips.
I don't think he breathed...when he said it.
I think he sang it,
Notes that dripped from his tongue like something flammable
And he...
Set.
Me.
On.
Fire.
Uh, Mr. Editor,
You see,
That was then
And this is 6 years since
And my heart has diced through countless red lights,
(Didn't want to see 'em.)
Blown through intersections and cut all caution to pieces.
It is accelerating somewhere between 90 and a stroke,
And all of it just to be back where I was
6 years ago.
He is James Bond in a martini-
Except,
I'm shaken...stirred.
I'm giddy and dizzied and maniacal
And he,
He surrounds me like tightly woven bamboo poles
As he pretends not to stare at the fabric of my blouse.
But he does and it's slow, ivory seduction
As he falls onto my cherries jubilee lipstick.
He is
Absolutely
The same
After all this time.
But his eyes,
They're tricky and relentless
and azure.
I can feel the passages of my heart collapsing,
The blood evaporating into every deep breath that I take.
I am worse than nervous,
I am triple-dip terrified
In a waffle cone.
Yesterday was
The day after
The day
That something happened between us.
I don't think that I know what.
And the moment is tear gas tricky
I am having thousands of minute heart attacks
Jerking around my good sense
Looking every couple of seconds in the rear view mirror
Just to make sure that
I haven't
Disappeared.
I don't remember my name, or the day or
Why
This man makes me feel like smooth cognac
But he does
And then he does it-
He does
And I am stupefied.
You see, Mr. Editor,
Sir, I am writing to you because I am not quite sure
How to tell him
That his
Capital I, capital L,
Little o, little v, little e,
Capital Y
Little o, little u
Isn't enough.
I've heard that one.
We had a connection.
Mr. Editor, the problem is,
His eyes,
They're tricky azure.
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