I think I love him,
like flowing water runs between my fingers
when my hands are underneath the faucet tap
and the water is running freely –
it’s simple – and the water is colorless, yet refreshing
and I feel the intimate way it caresses my fingers
Of all things – he brings me a basket of apples
This morning I wake to a masculine knock on the door –
and he brings me apples – in a wooden and woven basket
They are reddish-green, and I do not know their name or kind or variety
He brings the apples while smiling – he looks like a boy when he smiles
“They’re for smoothies”, he says –
“because I know you’re recently obsessed with smoothies” -
and I am recently obsessed with smoothies and with vegetable juices –
and with white wines I am mostly unable to afford -
and he has brought me apples
And, although my smile happens infrequently – I am smiling now -
and I am a bit self-conscious about it – but, I immediately forgive myself for my insecurities
Since dawn, today has had no rain or darkened clouds in the sky
No hurricane sirens or threats or predictions of theatrical lightning or of deafening thunder -
It’s calm and still –
like fallen leaves when there is no wind
I’ve decided to no longer be awkward in situations like these –
he sits like a man upon the seat of my metal and inexpensive dining room chair at the table –
and he smirks (kind of like a smile) at me because he realizes I’m falling in love with him –
and he’s right. I am
I then close the kitchen windows, the bedroom windows, and the windows in the living room –
I smell a hint of rain in the air – and I will not have it
He sips from a bottled beer, and I join him with a half-filled glass of wine –
His jacket has holes in it – just a couple – and I smile as a response
The imperfections suit him nicely – and no tailor could improve him –
he’s what I never expected
He sets his empty beer bottle upon the dining room table, and I get him another –
as I pour myself a second glass of wine
My glass of wine has an aroma of cinnamon, a slight bite of autumnal harvest, with a hint of summer melon –
And his beer smells like piss –
And I am where I belong –
and I am with the man I belong with
Even his posture is masculine –
and he’s falling in love with me
I take a sip from my glass – and see my future within his reflective eyes
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.
