Our first kiss wasn't in an opportune moment,
with weeks of anticipation behind it or the promise of more before it.

It was on my couch after too many drinks;
it was crooked and imperfect.

We held hands to be nearer,
and we fumbled around each other's eyes.

Afraid to glance, afraid to stare.
We held hands afraid to look.

Our conversations have not flooded from our lips,
we have not finished a single sentence of the other.

There is nothing perfect, nor pretty, nor easy about us.
The states between us are many; the years between us are more.

However; there is something good, something human,
something real about the way we choose to keep on talking.

There is a solid fire of human heart in him, a good heart, a heart known and loved by yhwh.
There is a man, with scars, with faults; but eyes that see truth, that see the world as it is-
and love it still.

How few are the men who will love the world after she has hated him, has seduced him, has twisted him.
And though our kiss was crooked, improbable.. it was secure around so much that is not.

There is no ideal to be broken here, there is only a real man
who this real woman might one day decide to love.

Or we may hold hands once again
and say goodbye.

a new story

Big toes curled around my little toes
and his beard scratches my nose
as we lay between covers together
and lay while the day goes on without us,
and we lay hoping the world will forget us,
let us curl around each other
with his big toes and mine small.

It's the quick heartbeat of a new beginning,
eyes shining and fingers intertwined
laughing at the eighteen inches between his head and mine.

I am warm and breathless,
he is warmer and full of words that
make me blush.