The orange chair (poetry)
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Wed Nov 22 2017 at 18:40:11
We were going to try and meet before
I got into that accident and crashed
my car. For several months we kept
in touch, he wasn't the best
correspondent, but when we did talk
the time flew by. One conversation
in particular stands out, he was
at the time, we were
flirting, he was very good despite
the six thousand miles between us.
We didn't meet in person until
I packed a picnic for us, he had
offered to take me out to eat,
another thing I really liked about
him other than his beautiful brown
eyes was his sense of humor. He
knew I had food allergies, and
instead of making a big deal about
me not wanting to dine out he
started joking about blood and Epi-Pens.
It was the best date I've ever been
on, one that set the bar high for
every encounter after, he got lost,
or more accurately he inaccurately
typed in the address to my sister's
house and ended up in the hood.
A large and intimidating man told
him that his friend didn't live here,
when he mentioned the sister, he
was told that her sister didn't either.
We went down by the lakefront
after he met my sister, her husband,
and their baby. He would have to
drive me back if we rode together,
but he said he didn't mind so that's
what we ended up doing. He ate
lightly despite not having much
earlier. Our conversation was
interesting, but I was very
distracted by him being so near.
On our walk he told me that the
one person he wished he could
were down by the
grounds at the time, without
warning my ankle starting hurting.
He asked if I wanted him to call
a cab, but my pride prevented me
from doing the smart thing.
Back at his hotel room I sat in a
super ugly orange chair with my
foot up on a table. By this time
it was radiating sharp pain and
for a fanciful moment I wondered
if I had broken it again. Taking
weight off of it helped. I patted
the seat next to me and invited
him to sit down next to me.
It was a tight squeeze, but we fit.
He is by far the best kisser I
have known. There wasn't much
room in the chair, but
fortunately for us, his bed
was right there. He had been
attentive during the evening,
at my service, eager to please,
and he was no different once
I was naked above the waist
reaching for his hair
It didn't work out and a part
of me is still sad. He was a great
guy, nothing major happened,
we grew further and further
apart since I had been the one
maintaining contact and when
I stopped reaching out to him,
that was pretty much it. Every
once in a while I say hi, but
it doesn't go anywhere.
What the orange chair taught
me is that there are guys who
care about what I think and feel,
men who are willing to invest in
me, listen to me, respect me, he
was an exceptionally good tipper
and I respected that because I
felt that it was respecting me.
So long ugly orange chair, I still
think of you fondly, but this is
I like it!
Spreads beautiful to darkness
When the Dark Is What You Are
Time for Bed
To ancient walls and linnets sing
needle-sharp, whispered the voice from the cellar
Spreads beautiful to darkness
Where does the song go when the needle is lifted?
you were a dream I painted and wished to own
March 18, 2018
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