Sessions From The Balcony

Love As It Ages:

We are too far away now.
The distance between then and tomorrow
has so many miles between it.

I have memories of heavy rain
falling in an early spring night.
I think of the corner at Avenue A and St. Mark’s
and a place called Stingy Lu-Lu’s,
or Trash and Vaudeville
and the time we passed an empty
or, better, an abandoned  CBGB
I think of us parked on a corner
sitting beneath the streetlamps
I think of how the lamps reached out with a steal arm,
which held a glowing light that shone like a soft,
almost yellowish pendant above the middle of the road.
Around the lamp was a rainbow halo broken by pieces of raindrops.
I swear it was beautiful . . .

And so were you

I think of fast falling rain sliding down the front windshield
as if someone kept pouring buckets of water
across the top of the car.
The sound of rain splattered across the black rooftop
crashing down on the hood of a beautiful four-door dodge.
We were young then.
Sunsets were complimented with the following sunrise.
Time grew from minutes to days and from days into years.
The space between now and youth
is sometimes equaled to the distance
between awareness and regret.

There is something to be said about a man and woman
sitting together in a car on a rainy night.
The windows become watery and too distorted to see through.
The sound of raindrops falling set the mood.
And the smell—the smell of a woman to a man
and the scent of a man to a woman
release the thoughts
and quiet the lips with a soft and gentle kiss.

There is something so incredibly wild
and brave about the backseat.
Her pants pulled down, shirt opened
with a man’s body upon hers
and woman’s world beneath his.

There is something so incredibly forbidden,
and yet so undeniably perfect
about climbing in the backseat
to satisfy the uncontrollable urge,
which is an urge that could no longer wait.
Not even for another minute.

This is desire.
This is when endorphins fire off and replace pain for pleasure.
This is when the world is locked out.
All that matters is the sock hanging from the end of her foot
all that matters is the way she wraps her legs around his body.
All that matters is chest upon chest, skin upon skin,
and flesh sunk into flesh.

There is something so beautiful about desire
when it loses regard for the commonly accepted,
and instead, pushes the limits.
And after, when the lust ends and the embrace begin,
shimmering shadows of raindrops
leaking down the side of the car window
reflect across her face.

Truth is I never want to grow old.
I always want to feel young.
I will always want to feel you with me, chest against chest,
skin against skin, and flesh sunk into flesh.

We are too far away now.
The distance between then and tomorrow
has so many miles between it.
And that’s okay.
At least I get to spend each one of those miles with you.

Speaking of which, let me ask you . . .

Would you like to go for a ride?


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