Category: Poetry

It was the dead of winter in New York City and we were blessed with a 50 degree night. So it was wonderfully ironic that Simon had invited Lauren and I to one of his shows. We emerged from our den in Brooklyn and headed to the city to take advantage of this gift. The breeze by the East river was crisp, but we were happy enough that we only had to wear one extra layer of clothing. We stopped off to drink hot chocolate, catching up on lost time and debriefing on the upcoming activities. After a few hours of standing around and chatting, watching Simon do his thing on the dance floor, we decided to leave and head out to a club. There, we met with Chris, an old colleague, and smoozed before he let us in. We headed straight to the bar for margaritas, and the music was bumping! We advanced onto the non-dance floor and got it started, dancing the night away until I am approached by you. I have a new dance partner. Automatically, we vibe and enjoy every hip rock and back thrust. You make comments on my choice of dance songs and I refute. “You are so cute,” I think to myself. I tell my friend. You are less aggressive than I would have hoped as you didn’t ask for my number, which I guess worked out for the best. I’m about to leave. “That’s it,” you ask, and make appoint to get an alternative connection going. I get your full name, and I am sure to remember it until I get home. I request, you accept. I’m interested, I can’t lie to myself.

His long stringy hair fell to his shoulders. The ends created little waves that reminded me of the torrent falls of Kaieteur. He had an interested look on his face, focused on the professor’s point of view on male female interactions and society’s view. He looked like a David, except for the turquoise gem that created a little sparkle on the center or his right nostril; this of course didn’t seem like an action of a man of 1504. I imagined him as a laid back, open-minded person, whose hunger for knowledge and spiritual connections couldn’t be satiated. His eyes were big and active with curiosity. He wore beads that hung like little colorful waves under his white t-shirt, and I imagined my tongue swimming through the still ripples. “So, what’s the purpose of society’s opinion in a world where individuality is praised,” he asked. His lips seemed like they were chanting a prayer the way they moved with such veracity. Moments like these are when I wished I paid attention to what the professor spoke about, because then I could respond to his question. We’d be dancing, making love with our words and our minds in front of everyone. But then again, I’ve never been and exhibitionist.