blushed for the first time.

so last night i blushed for the first time.

my fingers became numb from typing.
this was my fifth attempt at a myspace message to the one i used to love.
and i don't think even this one would come out right.

as i typed i couldn't help but think of the lovers somewhere else doing what i wasn't.

there's a hallway somewhere close by clothed with photos by gordon parks
and paintings by ernie barnes.
somewhere in that hallway, right now, two people are making love-
creating some sort of synergy.
sweating, breath funky and carpet burns.

they are fucking like their lives couldn't exist outside of this coming together.
and for those minutes - they can't.

somewhere in the other room wynton marsalis is blowing on his trumpet...or sax or whatever it is he's playing.
and when the screams have been muted by sock balls and dry hands that smell of diesel cologne and fabric softener, he realizes the musician is now coltrane, and everything, regardless of this cramped space and the argument earlier, is going to be okay.

my train of thought crashed as the phone i thought was muted rang.

me: hello.

him: i like you.

me: well...

him: and if you don't interrupt me, it'll be easier. i like you and i really want you to like me to, because if you like me to then we can spend days together watching absolutely ridiculous shows on television and laughing at each others laugh.

me: i do.

him: really?

me: how did you get my number?

him: i'm a determined man. so you like me too, huh?

me: yes. but can i call you back when i finish this letter?

him: yes, but please don't forget.

me: i won't.

---
the letter:

dear you,

i think we should stop before you begin hating me.

friend and sometimes foe,
me.
---

i found my imagination again.
we greeted each other in my window sill -
my right hand giving life to a cigarette i'd been saving for a monumental occasion.

in the street below the heaven i created in the cramped studio apartment sat two men like me
writing poetry on each others scalps with their fingertips.
breathing life into each other with their lips.

and i smiled a bit harder than usual.
and through my reflection i realized this was blushing.

so last night i blushed for the first time.

welcomed him home.

so last night i welcomed him home.

he left his shoes at the door and his pride on the stoop before coming in.
i hung my pride up beside the summer jacket i knew i wouldn't be wearing for a while.
i longed for the foolishness to be done.

all communication up to now lived in our palms as we checked old text messages and the new alerts.

he was beautiful.
and we had yet to make eye contact or so much as a sneeze.

he doubled up on his basketball shorts and wore a tank top under the white tshirt i had given him five months ago when i wore hanae mori cologne and showered with irish springs with aloe.
i could still smell the younger me.

he was beautiful.

his thumbs moved fast across the qwerty keyboard and my eyes moved faster across him being.

'so...i missed you.'
he looked up.
what the fuck was i saying?
i don't miss people.

i'd sooner bite through that skin that lives between the pointer finger and the thumb than confess a longing for anyone.
but shit, this was the type of longing that went further south than the heart.
this was the type that managed to build a fort in one's groins.
shit!

and he smiled.

and as much as i hate the fact that the sun disappears at 5:00pm it didn't seem to bother me anymore.
i now found more time to enjoy laying in a bed with the remote on the floor and my fingertips creating a maze between the strands of hair he promised to grow so i could grab.

and between the last few bites of baked sweet potatoes and the first few minutes of a massaging shower
we found ourselves omitting all fuck-ups we caused in madness.

and with paid programming happening in front of us and the remote too far
we lay there in satisfaction
but no words.

i missed him.

so last night i welcomed him home.