The Rolling Stones and a story
You can’t always get what you want.
Johnnie and Lexi were singing the Rolling Stone song. ” You can’t always get what you want, but sometimes we get what we need. Me and Lexi sitting together at the Irish Pub on the Monterey pier. She was a long-time poet friend trying to change my mind about love and life.
She was a auburn beauty, long-legged, tanned and she had fierce brown eyes. We met every Thursday for a year and a half. Ladies night at the Irish Pub every Thursday. Two-dollar mix drinks for the ladies and two-dollar Long Island ice teas till nine for the men. The great drinkers, dreamers and lonely folks gathered looking for some conversation and some company.
Lexi , she told me. Love is just myth and tale. Yesterday memories and faces are gone. The old memories, just added weight to be carry and to be forgotten. Dear poet, my dear friend. We must make the new minutes, hours and days count as meaningful and worthwhile journeys and places. We must allow our fingers, our mouth and our skin to be taught new lessons. We are not dead yet and we are alive and well. The night is long and the California weather is perfect. A perfect night for us to drink less and for us to talk a walk on the Monterey beach.
We left the Irish Pub. Dear Lexi held my hand tightly. She was the sweetest and kindest woman I knew. Asking me for very little and making me feel wanted and okay. We walked to the nearby party store. I bought the tequila and the lemons. She bought the Honduras cigars. Lexi was a New Yorker, turn to California true. She ate no meat, she wouldn’t drive a car and she loved the Pacific. We walked the quiet beach and we watched the moving and dancing waves. She held my hand tightly and she told me. I have wrote some story and some poetry dear Johnnie. Tonight we shall leave the sea and you and I. We will return to my home. I will cook you natural and healthy food. Me, you, Leonard Cohen and Jim Morrison will drink and dance for the midnight moon. You will stay the night and in the morning. I want you to read and edit my new work.
I told her. Beautiful Lexi, you are my muse and my kind friend. You make me feel important and okay. If we surpass friendship. Where will we end-up? Lover’s want everything. Do you want to sell your soul for love?
She wrapped her arms around me and she whispered. Sometimes we can’t stop what we feel. You make me smile and you make feel beautiful. You make me want to run wild and nude in the wants of love. I don’t demand a lifetime. I know the Poet’s love is to sing and dance till dawn, drink till we cannot no-more and travel to unknown and places of mystery. The poet want to taste love, swim in love and write a million stories for love. The writer and the poet want the feel of a Dante’s love. Their Beatrice to haunt their words, dreams and life. It is sad the writers and poets love danger, war and want to taste the pain of a love so close and so damn far away.
The night was hot and the sea was quiet. She rose-up and released her black dress and purple blouse. She danced in her bra and panties. I told the moon and the stars. A blessing for the all of us.
I went to her and we danced by the sea. She kissed me often, long and tasty kisses of tequila and lemon. She took my hands toward her breasts and her stomach. She whispered. Please kiss and touch. The lips and the fingertips, the doorway we must submit to. The will of the need of love, the need to be wanted and needed. Lips need lips, tender kiss lead to gentle caress and the body to be taken. Love is free and love is costly. Real lovers don’t demand payment. When the gift of love is near. Just drink of her and fall into her embrace.
I kissed her stomach and I held her tightly. I whispered to her. Your wish is my wish. Thank you dear Lexi for you.