As I enter, the prospect of finding you turns me on
The aroma of coffee penetrates as I make my way through
There you are, always with books on Metaphysics
Looking for new reading exulted by the critics.
I feel like messin’ with you.
Damn! Your bum looks good in those jeans.
I gleefully stride right up behind you
Grab your derriere, sidle next to you, and in your ear proclaim,
“Reading rots your brain!”
I’m laughing, still squeezing tightly and my mouth is so close to your ear.
Why are you so frozen?
Why do you reek of cologne?
And, when did baby get SO much back?
I turn to look into a pair of eyes, my stranglehold grip subsides and I stare at someone I’ve never met.
“Holy fuck! I’m sorry, dude. I thought you were…”
The stranger’s face is flushed and in turn so does mine.
His eyes have softened where I wish I’d go blind.
That welling of embarrassment, the indescribable feeling of suffocating on one’s errors.
It’s difficult remembering these times.
I’d like to burn it from my mind leaving a scorched area when on replay only burnt edges will remain.
Explode the memory from my recall, blow it up so that it mushroom clouds away and I will never have to feel embarrassment again.