Kiss me, cuddle me
arouse me, befuddle me
time albates with seduction
enkindle, caress, slowly undress,
resist all other disruptions.

“I’m going to become a nun,” I announce to no one in particular between Sprite sips.

“You’re Catholic, I suppose you could,” Lisa says, with a mouth half full of pizza.

“Why do socially distant guys look extra attractive?” I ask dazedly.

I reach my hand out slowly - towards a sweaty, chiseled, guy entering the pizza place, who looks like he’s just coming from the gym - like someone lost in the desert reaches for a mirage of water.

“No!” Lisa says, protectively lowering my arm “you’ll just have to put him back.”

I sigh. “I want to do something interesting or shameless.” I say.

“Don’t we ALL.” Lisa agrees, knowing all we have ahead is 4 hours of reading.

A wall of Jacobean era lattice-windows
line my dorm room - my private eyes.

How many freshmen have watched
the gilt harvest moon from this seat?

I keep them open, for cool breezes,
and the comforting the sounds of life,
in overworked, needy moments.

We shelter secrets, holding them close
and encrypted. Hidden truths,
like submerged rocks that create
snapping undercurrents and choppy,
white-capped rapids for navigating affinities.

Here at Yale University we’re encouraged to attend these campus “get togethers” - to meet other students and broaden our circles. Some are about interesting subjects like politics or science and sometimes you get to meet famous people.

Others are concerned with less interesting subjects - like the bewildering aspects of philosophy: “Would you **** baby ****** if you had the chance - and if so - could you do it with a gun? Shoot a baby to stop world war two? What if you didn’t HAVE a gun, could you find it in yourself to use your bare hands?”

“Well,” I say, giving it some serious consideration - just to show that I’m as philosophical as the next girl - “if I had BEAR hands, couldn’t I claw him to death?”

The storm is over - no, not last week’s nor’easter - midterms. I hope you survived.

New England seems to be one, big, storm-of-the-month club. Campus is 5 minutes from Long Island Sound and I like to go watch the mesmerizing roil of the ocean when a storm’s rolling in.

The choppy hazel undulations, opaque as enamel, seem to coil-up - then suddenly slap the shoreline breakers as if testing their resolve. The wind whipped salt-water patterns, like folds of linen. The wind and salt water mist in your face feels as sharp and violent as glass shards.

The sun occasionally pierces the clouds like a knife strike only to be healed in moments. The whole scene is beautiful, immense and uncontrollable - like eating cake by the ocean. (song reference).

“I’m accepted!!” she squealed.
“I knew you would be,” he said, almost sadly.

She went giddy with tenderness and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him on the cheek but he’s so tall she had to go up on her toes and ended up off balance, he moved his head into her motion and their lips connected in an actual kiss.

He clutched her to him, lifting her sneakers off the ground. With her mouth covered by his and her body clamped against his and not even the reassurance of the ground beneath her feet, the determined impulse that had propelled her to kiss him collapsed into alarm and claustrophobia.

He seemed to have gone automatic and muscular, driven by instinct. She writhed to get free, and for a second, that seemed longer, she thought he wouldn't let her go. she twisted, arching her back, and the movement seemed to wake him. He dropped her so suddenly she stumbled.

“Sorry,” he said, breathless, holding up his hands as though to prove he was unarmed. “You surprised me. I wasn’t ready.”

She tried to steady herself. “It’s OK,” she said, wiping her face and standing back up.

We looked anywhere but at each other. It was a crazy few seconds.

“I gotta go,” he said in a rush, picking up his backpack and almost leaping out the door. She heard him take the two flights of stairs in 4 long steps and the front door closed.

“Is Frank staying for dinner?” her mom called from down stairs.

She didn’t answer right away.

After that things with Frank were odd, strained - she tried to talk to him - more than once and texted him two dozen times. How do you undo a kiss mistake if you can’t talk?