I’d never noticed the
Freckles
On your
Shoulders.
But then again,
You’d never noticed
The scars.
Specifically
The ones
On my chest,
And if you had,
I’d never
Heard
Anything about them,
Or, “it.”
It had been awhile since we’d
Last crossed paths,
Encounters always
Ending in
Collision,
Connection
And corrosion come the first
Morning after; but welcomed.
You looked good though,
And that’s how it’d always
Started,
But beautiful nonetheless –
A world-weathered skin
In the form of a twilight tan,
The vulnerable smile
With a small curl displaying
Aggressive sexuality,
And a dress, your cloth,
A critical juncture,
Of both cinema and satori,
A’flutter in the wind.
“Gift-wraps,” aside,
I’d always return to the
Form and curve of “You.”
Simply you
The half I could see
Leaving the other
Somehow elusive side of
You
To my imagination and
Memory
Of prior gallantry.
Unspoken words
Pave paths between the
Tables we now occupy.
So to,
Acts of predation await,
Perched and ready for
Gardens,
Accepted, the resulted chaos.
I wonder,
“What’s she thinking?”
As I capture a wink
And steal the sunlight
Bouncing of her
Shoulder’s freckles.
It’s an intoxication
At its finest.
Accordingly,
I sip my
Beer
And in echoes mumble,
“I want you, want you,
Want you.”
Luckily,
You wanted me too.
Somewhere on a mountain, summer of '99.
