One hundred nights of beds,
Of cushy duvets, of impersonal hotels,
One hundred nights of sweat,
Of glistening arms, backs, legs,
Of saliva and salt in each caress.
Of hugs sucking out the air between our flesh,
Holding tight, so tight, as to
Expel from the mind the impending goodbye.
A hundred days of laughter,
Of rolling carefree on the hay of life.
Of wet, obscene, hungry kisses that
Made the park’s statues go red
With shame and green with envy,
As they marble nature prevent them
from joining our corporal exploitations.
One hundred days of celestine madness,
Brought to an abrupt halt by the impeding good-bye.
Life has demand it.
The same life that crossed our paths,
Who sheltered us for one hundred nights,
Now reminding us of our place and duty,
Of those to whom we owe explanations,
Dates, times, places.
And without consultation, this mistress
Has scheduled the impending good-bye
No question asked, no reasons given,
Except the need to go back and
Return to what it was
Sod life and her capricious rules.
After one hundred beds I’m not giving him up.
Let tears roll. I have already shed mine.
No one belongs to anyone, but if they do,
He is now mine. And our story is far
From over. One hundred nights is not
Enough. Not by a lot. I am full
Of kisses and touches yet to express;
Of hums and ahs, and screams and sights,
Burning to scape my lips; of hand-in-hands
And cute escapades; of long winding words.
Confessions and discoveries
Dances and reveries.
I have decades of longing, of
Hunger for him and I’ve just
Tapped the tip of this emotion.
I’m not stopping until we have
Devour it all, drank it all, inhale it all,
This desire, this…love. Why not?
Let’s call it that.
And put away the impending good-bye
As we start the one hundred and one night.