Sunday, April 03, 2016


I  wish, as you walked past me, on this immensely rare warm spring day in Seattle, that you stopped and turned to me. And instead of just acknowledging me in a way that no one else did that day, I wish you stopped and put both of your hands on my shoulders.

I wish, as I was admiring the bursting cherry blossoms, welcoming tulips, and gentle cool breeze counterbalancing the warm northernwestern sun, that you did more than just utter that deliciously warm “hello" and then walk past me, both too afraid.

I wish, that, as your ethereal brown eyes looked at my middle-aged and winterized body, up and down, and then back up again to meet my glance with your approval, that you reached out your hand and said that you couldn’t walk past me without saying something to me.

I wish, that, after you uttered just that simple hello, that I could fall into your mocha arms, breathe in the aroma of your breath, a delicious and familiar combination of coffee, mint toothpaste and a quick puff on the pipe, and have you asked me where I had been all your life, as if. As if, we had been destined souls. 

I wish, that, I was laying in bed late tonight, after you left my sheets creased and my bathroom wet from splatters of water from your parting shower, I  was immersed in guilt, fresh from my  shower after yours, in which I simultaneously washed you and wished you away.

I wish, that I was laying in bed, breathing in your sweat left on my shirt, smothering it in my face, tears of joy, guilt, pain and remorse all blended like a fine perfumery embedded on my 600 count sheets.

I wish, that, I had turned around after you pierced my soul with that telling glaze, and offered my presence to you, for an unknown interval of clock-recorded time, and that you took me up on my offer.

I wish, that, while my body quivered and bridled moisture seeped between my legs, you took my face into your hand, and tightly forced my lips to yours, and I wasn't sure what kind of danger I was in.

I wish, that, my hand had the memory of the worn roughness of your denim, the pulse between your legs, and the feeling that when I pushed my hand deeper between your legs, the growing intent.

I wish, that your fingers, who had just traced my lips, forced them apart and then moved to hold my face to yours, decided to travel and discover my body, which was acting out a "no, no, please, yes, more, okay, no, no, yes" act.

I wish that, those fingers, wet from pushing them into my mouth, forcibly pushed them into the warmness between my deserved thighs, and the gasp that escaped from my body was too loud and that I was embarrassed by my release.

I wish that, you brushed my hair back and away from my face, so you could see me deeply, condensing moments of those usual get-to-know you moments that we skipped over, into one stellar trust, as your hardest entered me, asking me if I wanted to play fair, or, as he said, take what's mine.

I wish that, I could feel you hands around my neck, tightening and releasing, in cadence with your thrusts.

I wish that, I had turned right after we said hello in cadence, and had reached my left hand around your neck, hot from the young spring sun, and said hello, as my right hand reached around the small of your back, to feel that small patch of hair.

I wish.

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