September 16, 2001
Missing You
I remember the way his fingers would comb through my hair. The van, last night, like some sort of dream. Hours in the darkness and the cloak of his affection.
In my pajamas today, curled on the couch and watching the usual barage of Sunday afternoon movies. My Cousin Vinny, Star Trek: The Wrath of Kahn. Longing to crawl into bed to sleep away this seperation.
I miss his long fingered hands. His sinewy arms. The soft pillow of his chest, the cool skin of his stomach. His legs wrapped about me, his stubbled cheek pressed against mine. His hair uncombed and wayward.
The way he looks like James Dean if I look at him from above, from just the right angle down the bridge of his nose. His ten pairs of sunglasses, worn until dusk has settled into blackness. His leather jacket. His smell. The barest whisper of his voice singing along with the radio. The billowy shirts. His carelessness. His callusness. His almost blind approach to love.
His heavy lidded eyes,studying me, moments before he leans down to kiss me.
astera at coherence