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.