||[Nov. 8th, 2010|10:43 am]
I see the way your hair curls like thick spiral pasta|
the way your fingertips seduce the backs of benches and staircase railings
the way your eyes don’t turn when the checkout boy at Walgreens watches
you bend for the shampoo on the bottom of the shelf.
Your cheeks are tan and freckled
and glow when you laugh at little girls dancing on the lawn to old Selena records.
You read Lolita in the waiting room
sing old Ella in the shower
and wear your mama’s leather pumps to the grocery store.
You’re the kind of lover that’s more than he can handle
and your thighs purr ‘til the L1 starts its route outside your apartment building.
You cry like a movie star
and move like a jungle cat
and your voice is like a chocolate malt on Sunday in mid August.
I see you’re getting awfully close to that little cub inside
who you’ll smear red lipped kisses on tiny bronze cheeks
who you’ll spend afternoons teaching two alphabets
who you’ll make grilled cheese for in mama’s leather pumps.
That little animal brings out the animal in you
like no man ever could.