Eye to Eye

i never meant to hurt you i know you never meant to hurt me
so why don't we speak anymore
we just don't see eye to eye
big man don't cry
and neither will i

you never know how it will go till it goes
lets not judge the paths each other choose
we just don't see eye to eye
don't pass judgement big guy
and neither will i

all your invested time is not for naught
and all my lack of direction don't mean i'm lost

i can only guess what you're doin and for me you only hear through the grapevine
well maybe we'll reconcile sometime
we just don't see eye to eye
but big man if you try
well then so will i

Barfly

She wears a lovely dress, patterned in checks, double-lined squares a variation on plaid, something argyle to it. She wears a light fabric black top and her brunette hair drapes over her shoulders.
He leans in, talks loud; not shouting, but quick, and he wants her to hear him. He dons a sweet smile, several days gruff, red shirt, plaid with cream and blue, a solid tie, black-rimmed glasses. His short hair he parted on the side.
They talk like this is their first time to hang out. Get to know each other; and she is nervous that they met at a bar. She doesn't want her face to turn red from the gin and tonic he bought her.
He talks about music he likes, that she should hear. She will. He gave her a mix CD. This is going well, he must think. She likes the gift.
He's sweet, flattering, preppy and handsome; talks about respecting women. He loves that she laughs. She drinks slow. He has to keep his voice wet with all his talking. His drink is low.
She asks a question. He answers, then explains.
He asks a question. She answers, then he explains her answer to himself, out loud, leading to another question, or how he answers his own question. Boys are funny this way.
He leans on the table and pulls his chair closer. Their knees are close. She reaches for her phone now, out of her purse, nervous? This eases the spectator's mind, which began to fall jealous, watching, thinking, What about my chance to woo her? But if she isn't so interested, as she seems, distracting herself, then all is okay. Although the one watching this scene doesn't blame the guy for his efforts. He's seen the girl's knees, legs, and since he started watching, she has turned her head, and he saw her gorgeous face.
Her leg swings and she brushes her hair behind her ear. She may be less interested now. She talks more now and the spectator lets himself think that she does so she can gain his attention. Boys are funny this way.
The spectator, halfway through his own drink, halfway through his starved day, watches closer now; looks closer to her legs, her figure, the breasts that hold themselves up beyond the profile of her arm that faces him; looks at her hair, and her ear that holds it back; wants to brush it back for her, rub her smooth cheek; make her smile.
The boy in red talks about a second drink. She doesn't want more. He compliments her frugality.
Words run low. He starts to sing the song that plays, then realizes "Satisfaction" is not a good karaoke number on a first... does he call this a date? Does she? He stops singing and talks more.
They talk about leaving. He says that's a good idea. I have things I should take care of, He says. He would stay all day if she would. The spectator knows.
She says, We should go out again. She's being polite.
We definitely should, he agrees.
They stand up. He gathers the glasses and follows her out.

Curiosity

I love who I love, however,
I want to explore the intricacies of another.
I want to roll my fingers over hips and ribs,
under the crease of breasts.
I want to see dimples in the small of the back,
shoulder blades, the spokes of spine.
I want to discover
what makes that body move in contortions of pleasure.
I want to hear the voice and feel the breath as whispers
"I want you" into my ear.
I want to know what those lips do against mine;
what that tongue does against mine;
the uses of that mouth over my body.
I want to go on an adventure,
rollicking through bedsheets,
smiling and moaning, with a stranger.