GRAND GESTURES
When we meet I’ll be wearing a bohemian sundress, with a batik design, that prints every shade of blue across my body. You’ll walk past me in the Boulder bookstore, probably in the poetry section reading a book by Mary Oliver or Pablo Neruda. You’ll want to compliment me on my choice of reading material, but instead you indulge me in flattery, mentioning how much you like my dress, how you’ve never seen anything hug a woman’s body so perfectly. While you speak, your eyes will distract me, and in them I’ll envision you undressing me.
First you’ll kiss my neck, while you unpin my hair, and my curls will fall onto your face as you continue to graze behind my ears with those seductive lips. Your lips will find their way to my zipper, and you’ll expose not only my back, but curves that have longed to be pressed against yours, they’ve been waiting for you, not knowing when, or how, but that you would find me.
You’ll comment on the sweetness of my skin, and how I smell like cinnamon, vanilla, and honey, and then you’ll take the time to taste every inch of me, as if I’m your favorite flavor ice cream, and your tongue can’t get enough.
Oh, that tongue, I’ll never ask you to bite it, always say what you have to say, I'm listening.
While I listen, can I be your little spoon? Breathe on my neck as you tell me our plans for the day...drive to Mount Evans...kiss...have a picnic lunch...nibble on my ear...hike...breathe…
We’ll hike through the aspen trees, and the leaves will glow red and orange with passion, setting the mood for our already crimson desires; we’ll hold hands, and occasionally, we’ll stop to share a drink from the same water bottle. I’ll notice the extra water left on your lips, and I’ll kiss you, and linger, because this moment was made for kissing. Oh, the most delicious combination of your lips and the hint of ginger on your breath, and you’ll wrap your fingers in my hair, reminding me that you're not going to let me go.
Let’s keep walking, you’ll say, and then you’ll ask me to take a leap, to hold your hand and jump. Past every conversation about the weather, past the questions of where do we go from here, and what do you really want. Down the path, I’ll say, and you’ll say, yes, down the path.
How far do you want to go, I’ll ask, casually, as though just walking through the trees without a destination isn’t enough, and you’ll stare into me with those eyes that are so blue they look like they were born from the sky. You’ll say, I want to go farther than this trail can ever take us, past the days these trees lose their leaves, and the snow takes over, past next spring when the apple blossoms bud patiently awaiting the sun on their fragile backs, past this mountain, because it isn’t big enough for how far I want to go with you. We’ll need really big shoes for this trip, baby, because this journey isn’t a half of a hike on a spring day; a love this big doesn’t come in half-sizes.
I'm no longer waiting for the right moment, the sign from above, the perfect timing. Yes, I have tests, all kinds of tests I can use to judge you, to see what percentage of compatibility you rate on my scale of idealized perfection.
I can remind myself that there is only this moment, right now, looking into your eyes, so deeply, seeing how badly you want to reach over and pull me onto your lap, into your arms, because your hands feel like electricity on my skin, I want to let you.