Long ago

First posted 5-17-04

"Long ago, the delicate tangles of his hair covered the emptiness of my hand."
- Joe Versus the Volcano (again)

There is a girl, she works at Publix. She is crowned with volumes upon volumes of soft brown curls, and to look at her is to believe she is made of infinite softness. She just looks soft as down. Her face is a smirking pug face. Pug nose, pug lips, pug eyes. And when I see her, visions dance through my head like sugar plums. I see us lying together on a sun drenched bed, on white sheets, in white underwear, in a white room. A gentle breeze wafting through the white curtains. Soft music playing on the background as we are lying in repose, her hair splayed around us, while I lie there and read the poetry written on her hips. I imagine her to have a throaty barking laugh, no lilting twitter. Deep and profound laughter. And I imagine an infinite happiness, lying there on a sun drenched bed in what amounts to a cliche. I nuzzle her neck, lost in the tangled forest of her curls, trapped in her spider web. Soft, so soft. And I let the world spin away in its foreignness.

But I should let such things go. I am approaching the age that to consider younger girls sexually is considered lecherous. I'm getting to the "Friends" age, mid to late twenties when my life is supposed to be settling like the foundation of a house. I will soon be creaky. So I will do what I always do, and let that dream go, like I am releasing a feather to the wind. I will shrug it off my shoulders as a leaf, and remember it only in this place and no other.