useless art

After the first time we kissed…
My glasses got in the way.
I placed them on the dashboard,
eyes wide and streaked, blurry.
We were sitting in a truck,
in a parking lot, with the headlights
bathing the brick wall. Eventually,
she asked me why the lights were on,
if we weren’t actually going anywhere.
Good question.

She asked me at about the same time
that I was going to attempt to ask her,
and I was so shocked, to think that
she was actually there, with me,
actually sitting with me,
actually wanting to be with me.
And then I bit her lip, in lieu
of her tongue. We laughed.

The radio was playing soft jazz,
brushes smoothing out drums and
warm brass sounds as we snuggled
in the peppery seat-cover fur.
I actually asked what
her hair color was - I just didn’t know.
“Um, I think it’s called
light brown?” she asked me.
“Oh,” I replied, surprised, and my
hand considering light brown
as a wonderful description.

And we stayed in the truck, in the
parking lot, the lights off, the radio
glowing like a sleepy firefly, holding
our hands, fingers in hair, arms and
bodies falling into a pleasant
slumber.

And all that we needed
was what we could hold.

written March 19, 1998