Do you know me?
Do you know me?
Pretty girl sat by the motel window. She is watching the ocean and the coming storm from the western sea. She is drinking coffee and waiting for a reason and purpose to move.
She turned to me and asked. Do you know me? Do you want to understand my madness, my fears and my disappointments? Do you want to know why my heart bleeds blackness and coldness? Are you content with silky skin, falling in warm thighs and scented skin? She lifted her t-sheet off and tossed the t-sheet to the floor. She stood nude to my view, baring perfect breast and standing with wanting eyes, for the proper answer.
I told her. I can see the sea in your eyes. You are perfect and you can transform from gentle dance to powerful storm. Woman are the not the same. Their emotion lead them to places where two people find peace in the quarantine of safety and wild nights. Woman hold secrets and men too. There is no shame in not knowing everything. Sometimes knowing someone had concern and is willing to hold you close in the darkness of the night is enough.
The pretty woman asked me. If we drink and drink till we are too full to feel. What is left? I didn’t know love was to make us weep and feel barren. I thought love was forever and all people wanted the pureness of true love.
The Poet told the woman. Can’t give away all your secrets and regrets. We are condemned to be blindfolded by shadows and remnants of lovers who will linger in the mind and the heart. It is okay. Old lovers can’t make new love jealous if they are left dormant and we open new doors and places. Old love doesn’t exist anymore. Just education and places we have known and seen.
I have drank in the sweet taste of your kiss. I have fell into your laughter and tears. I have yearned for your fingers touching my face and I want to hear your voice. I want you to give what you can. I do know you. You are complex and wild like the sea. We have time and coffee. In my eyes you are perfect. Life made you a masterpiece and you are my sweet muse.
Pretty girl turned to the window. She watched the storm a-coming. She told me. Come here and hold me Johnnie. You are right. Better to hold the secrets and distance memories. Old wounds can’t heal if we swim in bitterness. Better to re-write the story. Maybe a happy ending?