When it was Beautiful

Four feet of red felt

Cue in hand, I bend, ample young breasts on display, just south of ripe red mouth

I know I’m hot shit as I knock that ball home, and then, the fatal mistake

I glance up to see the most beautiful woman in the entire world, looking distastefully at my bravado

I am stunned for a moment.

I almost forgot, I just won the game!

There is still the grit of chalk on my hands, and so by the bathroom I hold up the wall as I wait to wash my hands… and there she is again, coyly suckling a wedge of the luckiest lemon I’ve ever known.

Her. I want her. I belong to her already, as her eyes… rise…

And meet mine with a defiant sexiness

And I need a second to compose myself and as I realize I might faint, it is my turn in the bathroom

I talk to myself as I wash my hands…

Don’t leave, please don’t leave, I must know you…

And I strut to her table and sit down, uninvited, with words, anyway

You are soooo beautiful, I declare, as I stare, into Willy Wonka’s finest optical creations

We talk, and flirt, and she asks me right out who I am

And wants to know what I love and what I hate

And I tell her, not knowing that my words would be the key

To unlock

That elitist love that I grew to hate over the years…

But this is about when it was beautiful

When it was beautiful, nobody and nothing else existed, not even the man she married

And there were nights that were days, and days that were nights, and the delicious musky taste of her flesh, and the strawberry orange taste of her sex

And the delicately skilled fingers of a painter, a sculptor, a genius

That molded my insides for their own pleasure

There was that mouth with the seeking flickering year of the snake tongue of hers…

And then there were the teeth… but this is about when it was beautiful

When it was beautiful, there I was, in her arms, in her bed, our hands intertwined even through sleep

There were poodles, and late breakfasts, and waffle parties, and there was art, and music, and cognac and wine.

There was cooking and singing and dancing.

There was even a search for signs of intelligent life in the universe

There was my brain, and my smarts

There was the sometimes limitless reaches of her heart

And there was painting, and posing, and modeling, and maskmaking

There was being a wife for the first (only) time in my life

There was being a bride, there was feeling so beautiful

There were dresses and heels and makeup and corsets and lace and lectures and concerts and culture and food and new experiences.

There was always lots of sex, some with strangers we met in a bar

There was one time when we made love in the car by the side of the freeway in long beach and I was hanging out of the passengers side with my panties off and my dress up, and anyone could have come along and it was like she didn’t care…

But this is about when it was beautiful…

When it was beautiful, I sat at my mistresses feet and oohed and aahed and awed to her mind

Her collection of books, her knowledge of life, the shared dreams and the deep soul joining,

The impossibly high standard to which I was held… but it taught me to be the best judge of myself

There were the books… there was mommy where are you?

And the allegory of the cave, the last chapter of which was our pie shaped bedroom, with the hole punched from the outside in to let in the sun in the morning…

And it was all so beautiful, and I learned so much…

But then the biting, and the double standards and the

hypocrisy jealousy fear-mongering control and abuse and abandonment and the dry fisting and spitting and the tying me leaving me and the ridicule and the lack of support and the disregard of my privacy and suspicion of my intentions and refusal to see who I really was… well, you know.

This is about when it was beautiful.