Once when I had been making love for hours with a man I loved who loved me, he went to kiss my arm and kissed his own instead.
This was a man I’d seen on a subway and then on a sidewalk and then on a subway, a man who had finally strode up to me with a grin and worried, kind eyes and said, “I fear I’d be terribly remiss if I did not say hello” and it was ok, the way he phrased it, because he was British and it didn’t feel like we were in the present so much as a noir of a neverexistent 1930s–
–a present that seemed like a future of a past infinitely purer and prettier than anything dreamed by this present–
and so we began circling each other, going for walks in the parks, meeting for chaste diner breakfasts, falling in step with birds, early spring air, the stoops of 90s brownstone brooklyn jamaican patties kids biking barbeque smoke smog pollen, until one day he bent down and his mouth met mine
and we fell into each other like it was where we were supposed to be all along. Continue Reading →
