The New Lover

Who are you, this man who has crossed my threshold, entered my kitchen, entered my life, and entered me? From what alien world, traveling to the middle of my mind, the brink of my heart, the boundary of my soul, can you be? Who in heaven sent to you a written invitation, a quickly scribbled note, a frequently whispered prayer to have tea? Oh yeah, the nano-second that I saw you, like a chemical reaction in every limb and organ, in every cell and sinew – it was me. I can picture how we two melted over a glass of freshly squeezed oranges and apples I believe, held hands and felt the energy. Although your face was still so new – It’s how it’s done these days – intimacy with a stranger. I rather like it I must say, happily. So brilliantly in tune to every cue we smoke, we smolder, we burn, we brew, we sip, we swallow, intimately. What conceivable harm does it do? In measuring the importance of the biologic stew some say that the percentage Is eighty. To actually know you I can take all . . . my . . . time. No mad rush to conclusions, No sad sprint to commitments; But we can have our pleasure ASAP. We dance a dizzy salsa, we two, jumping in and stepping back, skipping forward to go slow, testing and running the diligence due, just to let it be. No need to decide a thing before the day is through, a week, a month, a year or two . . . We only grow younger together. Our only risk is reaching an age too pure to love. And what risk is that?