Friday, May 29, 2009

Love at 6

What in the hell was that...
...that just ran across my stomach?"
...A quick shift of the eyes, reveals it's only Jae,
moving for the one-millionth time, in his sleep.
He has his hands wrapped around my stomach,
like a bar clutching me
into my roller coaster seat.
"...I'm set. Ready to go. Not gettin' lose
from this spot."

I grab his hand and feel his fingers grasp the interlocks
of my right--
a grip soft enough to reveal his sleepiness, but strong enough
to tell me that I'm not going anywhere.

I shift my body around, completely, and stare at
that baby face with a man's mustache--
...Hah, so young, at heart...
...not an ounce of alcohol or drug in him.
...I look for that soft spot, near his cheek--I swear,
it feels like a pillow; he knows I'm
on the hunt for it, so he just pushes
his face closer, while I press my face in.
I rub my nose against that soft site and wonder,
"Did God put too much fluff in this spot? Did he make this too soft? Did he know
I was 'gonna find it?"
I press my nose closer in his face, but he disrupts
me, grabbing my jawbone and pulling my face closer to
his lips
(what incredibly clammy hands); he gives
a small peck, but
my eyes open...he's so beautiful
when he's passionate; his eyelids gather wrinkles as he
presses his lips upon mine and loosen up as my
lips confirm the kiss.

...He, unfortunately, lays his head on the pillow, but wraps the
bar around my waist--Mmm...feels like
those warm, heat blankets my great-grandmother used to have; my body,
blindly, falls into a trance--an overwhelmingly
good--while the mind falls
into a deep state of sleep--into dreams unreal,
better than the spot
on his face;
Right as Jae and I are relaxing on Bahamian beaches and sipping the sweetest
wine, my face warms with the
breath and gentle kiss of
my divine.
"Babe, you want some breakfast?" I nod my head "yes," as if I'm too
tired to express coherent sentences. That way, another kiss can
befall the embrace of my face.

...I watch as he walks into the kitchen, pours the
grits from the can. ...Funny how those hands that grip
the bottle tend to run across
my body, in the morning--my bar,
my security from ill-intentioned hazards, ill-intentioned people, and ill-intentioned
love that remains unwanted.

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