Today I came across a poem I chose to forget. It was written during a time when all I could do was pour the fantasy into a poem, and then a few months later a song. I’ll let you know when I have the guts to share the music.
Ten Fantasies In No Particular Order
Four. Some Saturday night. Alone at a concert I bump into you and ask if we can hang. Sweating in the crowd, just having a shit ton of fun.
Two. Walking away from a bar in a huff, you follow and stop me with your voice. Gently with both hands you bring my face to yours, kissing me for the first time. Like a movie.
Five. Listening to you speak random German phrases and laughing.
Seven. Standing in a kitchen, side by side as we pore through a cookbook deciding what to make for dinner.
Three. I’m sitting, somber and thoughtful, listening to the music throb. Next to me you nod that you recognize I look spent.
Nine. Driving down the coast, still sort of drunk, I have red wine teeth.
Six. Sitting next to you on your bed, in a deep stare and waiting for the moment. My heart pounding, making the walls vibrate, I take your palm and bring it to feel the sound.
Eight. In your bed. Music that sounds like rain. Pulsing, directing us.
Ten. Sitting on a stone step. Listening to the silence.
One. A picture snapshot: holding me from behind, that absolutely happy couple smile, with sunny sunglasses, on an afternoon hike.