I heard you last night. Nothing more than the crunch of dry leaves on the other side of the window shade. Today, I saw evidence of your coming. Planted deep in the dark, moist soil, a single white flower where none existed before. Four white pedals shining out from a sun-kissed center. A message you left: “I was here.”
I was afraid to open the shade when I heard you. I had imagined a coyote, a wolf, knowing full well you were a raccoon, a possum, a skunk. But if I had dared, would you have been my beautiful boy? If I had dared, might I have had the pleasure of your name?
It’s almost midnight now. My husband is asleep. My daughters are too. My shade is open. Tonight, I will be daring.
Will you take me running under the moon? We might find a languid river. I could undress on the bank. Will you be able to meet my eyes?
I want you to rest your hands comfortably by your side. Hide nothing from me.
I could walk slowly away from you. I could step into the river, my toes breaking the surface gently, patiently, however you like. Your eyes caress my back. How much time will pass before you join me?
I want your hands to grip my shoulders. Turn me slowly. Press your chest against mine. Will we melt into each other like two candles connected by the single flame of our desire? Will we drip into the calm water like a single drop of warm wax? I want to curl my legs around you. I want you to hold me above the surface, your strong fingers cupping me. Your lips will taste of salt. I want the soft hairs on your face to glisten. We can float together until the sun rises. We can be afraid of the morning together, be afraid of what it might mean.
I don’t think you’re coming. I don’t. I think the flower blossomed on its own, and soon it will wither. But tonight, my shade is open.
Will you climb into my room and wake me with your fingertips? Will you brush the bedsheet off me like so much snow? I want you to watch me sleep. I want you to see me dreaming of you. If a simple moan escapes my lips, it will be our secret message. Put your rough hands on my hips. Snuggle your delicate face into my hair. My husband will not notice. Fall asleep too, and there we will be, in your dream and mine. I will be more daring in your dreams, more daring than I’d ever be in your arms. I want everyone to see us. I want to be on a park bench, with the joggers and the picnickers looking on. I’ll be sitting on top of your lap, facing you, my knees bent, the hard splinters of the bench piercing my kneecaps, a constant reminder of our wonderful sin. The joggers will stop and watch, and the picnickers will hear our ecstasy. I want them to hear us, to hear me. Make them hear me. Make them wonder who I am. I see a pond on the edge of our dream, and something quick and moving down deep inside it, silver fishes darting past. I want to wake up making love to you. Will we know when it is real?
The birds are starting to sing. My husband is beginning to stir. I’ll be here again tomorrow.
Will you bring me another flower?