We forgot to make love last night, yet again like many other nights we remained distant islands separated by Bermuda's of bed sheet and air. The body wasn't very happy Those thousands of red cells inside you divided and redivided in anger Ached and oozed and broke free from your restless
When I woke up this morning, I found you lying in a pool of blood. You decided to go to work After all it was a Friday and the long weekend was a week away.
You take too many iron supplements I fear, one day your body will be so full of folic acid that it will cry.
We have the Smokies lined up for October and the Cayman Islands in Christmas Thinking of planned vacations makes me go to work every day Even though I **** so bad that I'd rather open a book store and read all day and sell a book or two.
My life is still all about you After all these years I still couldn't kiss that woman who asked me on a coffee date at 10 pm by the lake. or the one who found me cute on our album by the dressing table You would say "Go ahead , we are not married yet". I would laugh when I am alone, thinking of the all the things you say these days.
You say all the good things in life needs planning marriage, kids, buying house on mortgage convertible sport coupes vacations in South Pacific. I find it ironic that I met you on a book store when I cancelled a TGIF party and had this sudden urge to buy Alice Munro's short stories.
We were sweet, back then. Now you lie, about being anemic on your weekly routine checkup hide, your biopsy report soon afterwards; lie again, on the reason of your sudden cancellation of the planned vacations for the year end saying it's work.
Then you disappear, terrify me Only to come back strands of hair gone from your head still say nothing, yet finally disappear saying nothing before I could buy us the last vacation together. I regret how much we could have done together if we made love more often my body healing yours resting, soothing, purging all the enemies.
On the day when we supposed to be married I visit the Caymans laughing alone in a crowded beach thinking about all the things you used to say these days having Alice Munro's short stories for company.