Dear Lover

Dear Love.
I unearthed a CD tonight.
One I carried with me over the oceans.
I thought for some reason 'Dry' was the first song you ever sent to me.
It wasn't.
Do you remember how rapidly we wrote? Fingers fumbling to keep up with thought, thought fumbling to keep up with heart, heart fumbling to keep up with our inner beasts.
How amazing to be consumed by you without ever knowing your name.
Without knowing your touch.
To spend nights by other men but consumed by a far away stranger.
Twisting and turning.
To drive over mountains and race home, to see if you had sent word.
Of life.
Of breath.
Of you.
Do you remember how frantic love was for us?
I remember one summer calling you from my parents front yard. Laying on the trampoline in the hot New Zealand sun, adoring your accent, the way you said your 'g's.
And the first phonecall, much earlier, when I still lived in the South. When you knew that I knew and you demanded I call. I didn't want to. Anyone would think we were speaking about love but it was more than that. Do you remember? The gap in the trees? Existentialism is why you demanded I call. Didn't we want to be more than gaps in the trees?
And don't we still.
And do you remember when we met?
You called me an Ice Queen, inwardly. And for months after you called me closed off, demanded my eyes said so much more than my mouth. I think they did but I think they always will. It's the potential in that that's amazing. You wake up next to a new woman every day. Now you know it's not cold or distant. Now you know it's hunger and lust.
And Jason and Brett's flat...art and movement. I remember the smell of it.
I remember the filthy Philadelphian streets.
And once, once when I could stand the city and the people no longer, you led me into town blindfolded. We walked from our apartment at night, through the masses of people, and all I could hear was your words in my ear, all I could feel was the pull of your hands. "Forget the people" you had said "there is only you and I, this is our world"
Turns out that you were right.
And orange.
Orange.
Orange should be my favourite colour.
The first time we kissed, deeply, passionately, pushed up against a bright orange wall in a dirty bus station. As if it were the beginning of our life.
Yes.
Yes I thought 'Dry' was the first song you sent to me but it wasn't.
And I'm playing it now, the first glimpse of you, and I remember everything.

I am still in New Zealand.
You are still in America.
We are still in Philadelphia.
We are both in Alabama.

But mainly, mainly...I am still blindfolded, night air nipping my cheeks, city smells teasing my nose, and you...you...

You are still showing me how the world is ours.
And I see we are still taking it, as we do.
Biting it all as the juices run down.
Licking each others chin.