his perfect face
perfect intuition
I couldn't help but swoon
under his perfect hands...

1.
Saucer-moon blue eyes
dance over my kitchen
in excitement
after he has cleaned it.

The meal I made was
"delicious and "divine"
but I think he describes
the peach cosmopolitans
strawberry daqueries
and fuzzy navels he has downed.

I made spaghetti and Rao's sauce
with Pillsbuy garlic spread bread.
He's the chef,
not I,
but he "can't cook without butter;"
Emeril has taught him well.

2.
He relays the story
of when his mom found him
in bed with nail polish on.
His nails were black
to match his hair,
and I stare at his
beautifully pefect white
complexion and hair
and wonder why he would ever change.

My nails used to be black
but are now a deep, muddy red,
they look like drops of wine,
or drops of blood,
he says
and he gently kisses my
very pink
lips.

3.
The upstairs TV spews
cable porn,
but I want to see so much more of him
and do so much more to him
than showtime could ever allow.

I know he knows,
so I go onto the porch to escape the inevitable
staring at the waves
pounding on the sea shore
every few secnds.
He is there behind me
his arms are on me
it is as certain as the next wave
rolling in.

We wrestle and play games
because I am afraid of my lust
and I assure him I've done this before
just
"Never with you"
and I think my girlishness
has embarassed him.

I am afraid,
or in danger
because when he touches me
my fears explode
and panic washes in like the tide
leaving me weak and exposed.

"I fucking love you," I tell him
and for a moment he stops.

"I know," he says,
and I stare up at his eyes,
or the moon,
my cheeks burning crimson.

7/15