like lions

there are so many things you take from your elders, your friends, those goofy lovers who

made you spit at your reflection once you returned from the bathroom. it reminds me of

shaving- i’ve always loved shaving my men, feeling the sheer power of running the blade

against his chin, always regretting the once prickly stubble.

for some reason i liked stubble better.

like matthew, for instance, proclaiming joyfully: “you made me shave tonite!”

and i think: “no, i didn’t.” i love the way it looks, feeling primitive, non-vain, like he

could run around the forest for hours with his clothed chin, comparing himself to pine

trees and other various creatures.

i’m babbling again.

the first time my gaze fell upon him i knew he was it- this hidden treasure among

blank angst filled faces; they only care about themselves anyway. but not him, he

romped around fires with us, he could call upon the gods and give them hell. hell hath no

fury like a woman scorned! we screamed, and he agreed with holiest of thou. he

respected that. oddly enough, that seemed normal. he caressed our foreheads with

beautiful words- we felt worth it, looking forward to clear blemish free skies, no helpless

birds scouring below.

sometimes a femme fetale would sympathize with us, but not often.

in the first fresh pages fear washed over them- we’d never fully given ourselves to

anyone before, those hands were neglected, lonely and callused, streaming up through the

air that we breathe. words shattered onto the ground (confused) while he recollected

them, nursing them back to the steely eyed wonders they were. those hands- the blue

eyes behind them: half unfrozen, half cooled- they were introduced, enveloped by him.

you deserve it, he whispered delicately, the words love you. of everything, this we were

certain of.

grr... the blondes. he destroyed the blondes, hell, he devoured them! he could

walk alongside one down the road and bahm! nothing else existed! oh we felt impressed,

ravished in our new prom dress, rolled around the river like a used fruit roll up wrapper.

we skipped, loved, cried from happiness (all that jazz), because those brown eyes would

beat up blue if they were threatened, and we felt protected.

“Like a Lion.”

“yes,” she said, “like a lion.”

“but what about the water?”

“water forgets, when lions are able to forgive.”

sigh.

wading legs in the water, we felt the fur, the mane, the mantle behind the burns.

“i think i’ll take them both.”