You and me, a we, but minus you, is me less than whole, alone, always solitary, wandering the recesses of clustered memories we made in rooms not ours, on beds rented for an occasion in stolen moments between dawn and dusk, between the other lives we belonged to in different towns with partners who knew not at all of the passion we found over Tequila by the sea under a crimson sunset on a solitary mid-week late afternoon. You sitting stately on one side of the scarred table made of pocked plank, me quivering on other side of a destiny I’d not expected in your arms-then, ever. In this life, there have been none to leave me undone. I sang in Memphis, pondered in Paris, wallowed in Moscow, covered border towns from Santa Fe to LA, hoping for someone like you to find me in the shadow of dusk’s afterglow. In you, I felt something I had not known. It frothed my blood. I said, I want to kiss you the tequila ignites my passions and engulfs me in flames in this tall chair where I sit across from you. The kiss-now, please, don’t keep it to yourself. There was a want never felt before. The air, solid, time stuttered between beats, the pounding beneath my cotton blend shirt, thud-thud-thud against my breastbone, my blood burned beneath the surface of the dermis. Now that kiss, kiss me-NOW. You said, Now? Kiss you in this room with watchful eyes-we must hide away where no one can see your passion burning me as if I were parched oak. My longing to be close, to feel your skin melting into mine, to weld a bond, come on, come one, be mine-now, please do not waver. Maria, your passions flow over me. I should run now, leave you here before we surrender, there is no room in my heart, for there is another………..Let us hide away and I will kiss and more. You and me, a we, but minus you, is me less than whole, alone, always solitary, wondering, will there be more? After you kissed and gave, there was hunger in my soul stronger than my will, my need to breathe, was my desire to surrender under your touch, your kiss burned long after you were gone, too long with no word of why. I cried, come back to the moment we shared, to my arms, my lips, my body waits for your weight on this rented bed, a longing not known until you, the one I traveled years to find. You wrote, My Maria, I was clear, between us there are no expectations, only a passion, a longing that burns each of us on touch. You are not mine and I am not yours, but in the moment when we tumble on our rented bed, our fiery passion binds me to you. We’d meet again and again in our secret place away from prying eyes where we’d ignite and breathe new life into our tired souls. You’d say at the close, My Maria, don’t ask me for words of love or time beyond the moment, between us there is only the now and never a promise of more. You and me, a we, but minus you, is me less than whole, alone, always solitary, wandering the recesses of clustered memories I cannot bury.
For the romantic in me there is always the kiss, the one that stood me still, froze me in a moment, and the place I return to when the desire to write slushy poetry over takes me after a healthy pour of Merlot. Got a kiss like that in your clustered memories?