On The Nature of Things

This mental nature, therefore, or compound intellectual substance, is contained in every body, and is itself the guardian of the body, and the cause of its safety; for the two, the body and the soul, cohere, as it were, by common roots, with one another, nor seem capable of being torn asunder without destruction of both. For as it is impossible to separate the perfume from balls of frankincense, without the nature of it, at the same time, being destroyed, so it is impossible to extract the nature or substance of the mind and soul from the whole body, without all parts being dissolved…

— Titus Lucretius Carus

Why I Will Never…

Why I will never cheat on my husband

with a married man.

Words are everything. If you are a good man, you are a man of your word. You keep your word, do what you promise, to protect, love and cherish. Your word is good; Your name is not Mud.

It’s the other women really, the other wife. And the man I could never love, whether it be his fault or not, it doesn’t matter, his word is no good. I guess if this other man, the other husband, was open and honest about his situation, with his wife, the other wife, I might be able to. But how convoluted is that? It’s never gonna happen, no matter what my imaginations.

Why would I want to ruin my imagination, anyway? No need to mess it up with a little thing like reality. Like a mortgage, two children who won’t be paying the bills anytime in the near future, and a new job making a quarter of what I did before kids. So much more responsibility, with a fraction of the appreciation; the least I deserve is my imagination.

I imagine he would offer me his hand, like literally, hold my hand just for the pleasure of touching; walking along a trail, in the evening; watching the news, his fingers finding their way up the sensitive side of my arm, making my heart beat a little faster thinking of where they will lead. To my chin, directing my mouth to his. Then his mouth taking the lead, down my neck and shoulders, hands going further down my side, and feeling my body respond to his.

I wonder where we met, how this started. It gets fuzzier, harder to work out. Does he follow me towards the  bathroom, and wait for me to come out? What does he say, a question perhaps? I was wondering if I could touch your sweater, so pink and hard, I mean soft. Not what I meant. I saw your hand there behind your back and it seemed to be needing something. A ring of stars swirl around my head, is he coming on to me, making me dizzy? We find a dark corner in this public place, and I find his hands. Deciding to draw this out, just playing w our shadows, smiling, wondering. It could be heated and fast, backing me up onto the counter, his mouth finds mine just as his hands reach along the side of my legs, up my skirt, I feel the hardness of his body so strong pushing into me.

Of course, if I really liked him, it would have to end there, right? I couldn’t allow him to bulge out of his pants and let me feel the length and width of his heart, without first bearing some soul. I imagine he has an understanding, a situation that makes it all okay, to see me again. Maybe a room at the Biltmore, where we can swim at the Coral Casino by day, and skinny-dip in the adults only pool after hours. Dripping wet back to our room where we make love until we can no longer move without fueling our bodies. Out of the room, we skulk scantily dressed, giggling and touching, to an out of the way table, with arched bougainvillea creating shadows on our perspiring faces, smiling elated. Not afraid of public displays of passion, our mouths share bites, and our legs entwine below the table. We bring dessert back to the room.

Serendipity too

Dear Kind Wine-Caddy,

You were unexpected, a voice from over my shoulder. “That glass of wine needs filling.” I laughed, and heartily agreed, then I saw you. Something happened, just for a moment, a smile emanating from your eyes, sad eyes maybe, but we laughed. You seemed kind, disarmingly so, and a bit of nothing-to-lose lonely; Maybe I was projecting.

“What was that?” my friend asked.

“I don’t know, he’s getting me Viognier.”

“Why didn’t you get any for me?”

Sorry, I shrugged, “I didn’t know.”

Later, I felt the weight of your eyes upon me, diverting my own. I noticed you were handsome. Then you were gone, until a few days later. In a glossy, socialite-scene magazine, I saw those eyes again, looking tired. Maybe I could take your hand, and listen to your story. You could touch me, like you do so many, but differently. I wish I could bump into you again, but not knowing who you are, not feeling the nervousness of talking to someone famous. I’d be charming, and real like you.

You were gone for a long time. He must not know much about wine, I thought, he seemed to be confused when I answered that I’d like Viognier. People who don’t know wine, don’t know Viognier.

Maybe he’s not coming back, my friend suggested.

Oh? Well, I thought, but really I was disappointed. Until you returned, breathless, with the wrong, perfect wine. A wine that you took the time to search out and find, for a perfect stranger. Or maybe you were just occupied, and cursing that you opened your mouth at the wrong time;  Just too polite, how could I not offer to get her wine, you thought.

No, I prefer the first explanation. Then I see your interview with Leno. It was weird, right? He seemed shallow – asking about your Mountain-state, yes, but were you sad? You didn’t really answer, it didn’t deserve an answer, anyway, I would’ve done the same. Plain-spoken people, said with intelligence, reminded me of someone else, myself maybe, or from further back.

You must not know much about wine, ha, I thought, wouldn’t that have been a funny, charming joke, to bring up later? After we were already noodling, and palling around like college-lovers.

If humans have a second life, do you think they turn into star-dust, go back up into space and be like a star? “Don’t you think that is a good question, Mom?” My son asks. He’s talking about atomic energy now, like Einstein, like my dad, you seem smart in an honest way. And isn’t it funny that Adam and Atom sound the same, like the basis of all life, from the beginning there was Adam, and I’ll be your Eve. Because really you make comedies, you’re trying to be happy, just breathe.

The core of our heart is an atom, Mom. Like it is the source of our energy. It’s like our heart is the engine that splits the atoms and makes the energy. God, I think how true that is; I think that is what I recognize in you.

photo

Serendipity

Let’s kiss like real people do

forget the conspiracy

to keep me away

from you.

 

Let’s lay out a blanket smooth

on the ground I surrender

put your sweet lips on mine soft.

 

Weeping willows shade

a lush new green grass below

the patchwork quilt will protect

our bodies entwined.

 

The moisture from the valley

cools the heat between

serendipitous

streets carrying the eyes of

children.

— Marie Scott

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