i need you like an earthquake.

our first kiss could have been against a car,

my car.

you picked a flower

from among the walkway shrubbery,

instead.

i stayed too long.

she talked too much.

you drank plenty.

and he followed us out to the car

the second time we departed,

after being dragged,

back (must we go?),

by your

sister for another cigarette and another unbelievable story.

no matter,

you would have 

inevitably regretted it the next morning.

publicly.

secretly? i haven't given up on that possibility, yet.

maybe that's the problem: i'm lousy at keeping a secret,

especially one so indulgent.

hypothetically, of course.

better?

it was to be the last summer night 

spent with the bulk of you.

i was late,

but i brought leftovers as truce.

chocolate cream this and strawberry custard that and

a cheap assortment of table crackers with  squares of low-grade cheeses.

if it weren't for the champagne and grandma's delicately etched coupes

i would have been embarrassed by my tokens.

but the group was far ahead of me by that point

and you were smiling

and my tanned legs were buried in carousel folds

of my silk skirt

that your little niece carefully studied

instead of minding the spoon

i offered up to her

with a bit of whipped cream.

your spitting image.

a few saucers later and i was

at a low, but comfortable simmer.

any more champagne,

and i would have walked you

to my car

myself.

last call! too soon!

last hurrah? too late.

but i was definitely feeling it.

the champagne, that is.

i was feeling the champagne.

obviously.

don't be absurd.

surprisingly bored of my company and

restless for 

action

i turned to the next-best thing.

after some persuasion, she was receptive.

no sweat.

we snacked

and spun

and crept along the deck-line.

tip-toe

tip-toe

tip-toe

we whispered in a child-like-melody

as we both, though unaware of it,

followed you 

through the grape vine furls and tree-stars 

with our eyes

and impressionable hearts.

you never came:

we soon departed.

her, kicking and screaming to bed.

me, a silent, internalized variation of the same.

i'm good at keeping those kinds of secrets. 

so, it wasn't meant to be.

but something was:

for there we were,

and here we are,

and neither of us are any wiser from it.

i could count

on my fingers

the distance,

the inches that 

didn't have to be 

between us.

i could count,

but on second thought,

i'll clasp my hands together

and be thankful

for the inches few

that separate us still.

may our great continents collide

sometime in the distant future.

i need you like an earthquake. 

let's shake things up,

a little.