just touch me

Jamaica? The Theory of Everything is Love, or Probability or Time.


What is the probability, he asks, upon the second chance. Our meeting was too brief, yet it encompassed all time, our history. In your eyes I saw everything, in us is all knowing, the creator from where we come and will go, the universe an iris. Once just a twinkle, now they walk and talk and continue our living.

The Theory of Everything is love, or is it sex he asks, smiling then throwing his head back laughing, joy.

Let’s research;) I say, I just need you to touch me please, I am saying you can do that again; catch me from falling. Be at my back before I know your need and find my hand always there for you searching. Come up from behind me, in this place where I am unsure,  just brush up to me a tiny finger, a shoulder to rest on. Breathe me in your words, in my mind I can feel them.

Everything is going to be okay, I said to my son, but the uncertain feeling is coming up through my spine from the gut. Tell me, my love, your words I needs to hear. How will it be okay, how will I find your hands holding me.

The problem is with Time, the equation of yours and mine. Is it Love plus Sex equals Life, but of course, tho the question is unclear. Life=Time? Love=Time? Life and love is in the end just hope. Death then equals light, or is it darkness I see in your eyes, a sadness I recognize? I find it most amazing the whole of life, Earth, Everything is seen in the eyes, black holes to another’s heart. We are all one body a universe, but I just want you, here beside me.

Laying in bed I don’t want to leave, move, eat or drink just you here with me. Reading the news, yours glasses sliding down your nose just below where smile wrinkles form when i kiss it, then your mouth. We laugh as the children come in screaming, crawling all over us. You scold with a warm embrace, a good morning ruffle, back out you go; let’s lock the door we say together with no words.

The problem is with Time, I keep coming back to it. We can swim around in our bubble, move all within our sphere gooey, but we cannot go back. Sideways works, I think it is the secret, the answer in the research. I’ll say it next time I see you, “What is the probability?” and you will look at me like the stranger I am, for we’ve forgotten. Then I will say I know you, I’m a time traveler you know me, looking into your eyes firm, your hold on me will soon be. You will just put both hands to my face, and tilt my head opposite to yours, bringing our lips together for the first kiss lasting, seeing, feeling forever in your eyes, in your words alone.


Or you can just pour me a glass of something really thoughtful and we can talk all sexy to each other, about the probability of it all, finding you again and again in my dreams.


“Jamaica?” I say looking deep into your eyes. Hoping for a smile, a smirk, something that tells me I am not totally insane. The voice in my head has got to be right about something, “Does that mean anything to you, Jamaica?” because Jamaican me crazy, I laugh to myself but really I am afraid of your answer. For I can’t keep going so deep inside my head without your help, your hand, your words telling me. More than just a singh, give me something real to know, words more direct, better yet your eyes on mine, touch me w some truth, you know too.


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