you loosely wrap your arms around me, kissing the side of my face, watching to see if the don't walk turns to why don't you go ahead. it does its thing and you grab my hand. we walk fast against traffic. against real life. our tattoos look stupid together. camouflage against an urban sub urban backdrop. uptown. i am going away from work, but into the building because with you, a date happens anytime, anywhere. i get excited for the lazy thursday afternoon drinking watered down booze and figuring out the crossword while those around us puzzle over rampant hand holding and molten gazing. we aren't solving anything and turn our attention to the cribbage board instead.
you get up to go to the bathroom. i admire the way your t shirt creeps above your waistband. i smile at you and blush. you catch me every time. i sit alone thinking of the salty perfection of that spot right next to your left eye. i love to kiss you there.
you come back, kiss me on the cheek. read my mind. i pluck at the beaded bracelet you bought me some other time. i do not have to pee, but i want to run a hand through my hair. squeal with a coworker about how great you are. feel you watching my butt as i walk away. i want to miss you, even for a few minutes.
so i hop off my stool, clumsy and awkward. sex and beauty giving way to tangled limbs and the drink i almost drop on your lap. you laugh and stroke my earlobe.
i back away, grinning. turning, clasping my hands behind my back, blocking the perfect curve of my ass. you love it, you sigh as i jan brady walk toward the bathroom.
i look in the mirror. i want one more sip, one more drink, one more hand. and then i want to go home. with you. i want to sit and talk and fall asleep with you playing with my hair, telling me a story about real life.
mostly though, i just wish you were fucking real.