This little scenario rolled through my mind, in living color and touch-a-vision as I thought of us. It was not produced, directed, or acted. It just played in my mind, and was about as real as we can get right now.
You and I enter a bookstore, hand in hand. We've never been here before, but, it's a light and airy place. For some reason, it seems to have many objects besides books. It's almost like an art store/flea market that includes books.
We wander about together, stopping to look at things, and pointing out interesting objects to one another, until we reach a section that seems to have books on poetry and art. Once there, we begin browsing... separately, yet together... never far apart, as if we don't want to be too far away from each other.
After looking at a few books, you find an interesting one, and call me over to look. I come to your side, put my arm across your back, my hand on your shoulder. I lean forward to see better, not quite sure of how you feel about my nearness. Without hesitation, and very naturally, you lean back towards me, holding the book so that I can see better.
I feel the pressure and the warmth of your body. I am happily aware of the contact you are allowing to happen, and, my hand slides from your shoulder to your waist. Without really changing anything, you somehow manage to press yourself a bit more tightly against me, as if claiming me as your man.
I listen to your voice as you read a passage from the book. I am listening and paying attention, but, my body is telling me that I am holding you, and I can feel your arm against the side of my chest as you hold the book for me to see. I can feel the presence of your hip, natural, but, not accidental, against mine, and the almost imperceptible brushing touch of our thighs, as we sway slightly as we read together.
It's a heady experience for me. I've done more physically intimate things in my life, but, this is emotionally intimate. You are telling me that we are together, that we are on our way to becoming one.
I almost hate to let go of you as you finish reading, and move away towards more books. My hand lingers on your shoulder until you have moved away from it, then, I drop it to my side. With a grateful sigh for that short contact, I too start looking at books.
After few moments, I find one with a poem I think you'll like, and I quietly call your name.
You come to me, interest lighting your face in a way that lightens my heart. I open the book to the page and begin reading as you come to me. At my side, you begin reading silently along with me.
As the words roll sweetly out, you slip your hand around my arm. Again, I feel the warmth and the pressure of your body, your presence, your attention. It's been so long, I am almost overwhelmed with the simple pleasure that comes from feeling that, holding me and pressing so close, you are claiming me as yours, and the poem as ours.
I feel each breath, the rise and fall of your chest, the pressure of your breast against my arm. From the corner of my eye I can see the radiance of your face, and I know that it is not just the words affecting you, but, the poem and this moment we are sharing as well.
As I manage another glance at you, you look up and our eyes meet at the end of a very sweet passage. You smile with naked pleasure and happiness, sigh, and tighten your grip on my arm. You rest your cheek against my shoulder, and our bodies are almost one as we share the flowing words of the poem.
You sigh again as I finish reading. I look at you, and think how beautiful you are, but with a special aura at that moment, andi take special note of how complete I feel.
I cannot resist your sweet smile, and bend to lightly kiss you on the lips. You place your hand on my head and return the pressure of your mouth to mine, and then, taking your arm in mine, I walk with you... with several small stops for kisses and hugs on the way to the car.
As I start the car, you ask, with a smile, "Will you read me more poetry when we get home?"
"Of course..."
Donovan Baldwin