sunday

i wandered through the kitchen
making tea
imagining it's our kitchen
ghostly, you come up behind me
fold your arms around me, hold me
then
your hands roam up, cup my breasts
i lean into you
maybe
maybe i grind backwards, just a little
maybe you like that

i go to sit on the two section love seat
i bought a couch
i had mixed feeling about it
but
my hip's been bothering me
and
i haven't got anyplace comfortable to sit
which might be a metaphor for my life
without you
but
it's new
and i got it for ninety bucks
tax included
so
i got a couch

i sit
not yet reclining
and i type to you
i need you, baby
not so much because i need your sex
as because i need your touch
i'm still sick
and
i don't need screaming orgasms
i need you
so much in fact that i've been conjuring
you all day
i recline, i think of you

the couch is a color called oregano
which makes it green, i guess
but, really
it's more of a neutral
it matches
my green rug
my beige carpet, walls
i don't really want to buy a house
but
i find
i wish we had a place
that we could change to suit
someplace
not neutral

i watch a show
i'm alone, but i'm not alone
and
i'm reclining on the couch

then
i feel you
like an electric wave
flowing through me
crashing
ebbing
and
i don't touch myself
i let it all be you
pushing into me
running current along my skin
in ways
not corporeally possible, weight, gravity
but
definitely in the sea
there's weight there
and pressure
and it goes on and on and on and on
the wave
the wave i'm surfing
not trying to push it to a frantic conclusion
recalling the first marijuana orgasm, potent, diffuse

and i wonder
was this even it
or was this just you're anticipation of it

because
i went to sleep at nine o'clock
wet
and woke up
wet