..but this would be ideal..
~
If I had a person, boyfriend or not boyfriend (titles complicate the inevitable), so a man...I’d be in New York, in an apartment all tucked up, with little nooks and narrow corners like a shadow box, a space that should only house one but can squeeze two in, so in grabbing the jar of peanut butter out of a cupboard my shoulder blades would graze his back as he cooked eggs on the electric stove, which he would complain about because the pan would either be too hot or too cold. But I would love his complaints. Sometimes I would wonder if our casual bumps in the hallway were full of purpose just to feel the sensation of each others skin or to catch a scent there.
I’ d wake up in a white tank top too big for me because I stole it from his drawer the night before. He would be asleep, sighing morning breath through open lips. I would feel his hot breath on my shoulder, which I would love because it’s cold in my apartment what with drafts and hardwood floors and it would be dimly sunny. I’d rub my nose against his to wake him up and the heat of his body against my bare legs would be just enough for me to want to run my foot up his leg, and he'd crawl bare chest on top of me, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist and give into him. We’d shower. I’d love the way he would toss his head like a dog to the water droplets rained down on my pale winter skin. And he’d brush his teeth, reaching over to squeeze my side so I’d froth at the mouth with Crest spearmint. He’d remind me to buddle up because the city is more frigid when the wind catches between the buildings. And we’d forget public transportation, him in his steel gray pea coat and me in my knitted beret and fur parka. We’d walk to some little undiscovered café with used leather chairs and paint that’s peeling off the molding. I’d drink tea and tinker with the steeper and he would drink espresso that would leave the edges of his lips russet and rusty around the edges, and id lean forward and trace the left over crèma with the tip of my tongue. We’d revel in the fact that we both have nothing to do that day and that the city is our wonderland. So we'd huddle there for a few hours refusing to shed layers, and his cheeks would turn ruddy and I’d run my fingers through his hair and rest my fingers on the slope of his neck. And we’d talk inches away from each others faces about silly things like how much gum may be found stuck under one of the tables and intellectual things like the idea of scars and Michael Ondaatje’s poem about scars and love. And he would find the mauve line in the underside of my arm where the sleeve is pushed up and trace it with his knuckle.
Then we'd walk to SoHo. We'd stop in little boutiques and shops, fingering little items we'd both want but couldn’t afford what with gas bills and groceries. So he makes me an origami flower out of some flyers he rips of a bulletin board in a dive bar and we get a little day drunk on whiskey that is a bit too expensive but keeps us toasty and we don’t eat because we've decided to give into Valentines Day and go to dinner. It’s starting to get a little dark outside, al little burnt orange and navy blue, so we head back and dress up. I put on red lipstick and he shaves a little but not too much because I like the worn scruffiness of him. Cassalula is seduces us with its little tables and vivacious small plates and we feed each other crisp crostinis spread with fava bean pesto, roasted dates stuffed with goat cheese and fish tacos with lime crema. We are messy, dropping little crumbs and licking each other’s fingers. We giggle like children because we are afraid of growing too old too fast.
Then a movie, but an independent one, in a small theater that smells like an old attic and buttered popcorn. It reminds me of childhood. We choose a dark corner and only get through the first half before we silently and heatedly fuck on the red plush seats and making it a game to try to be quiet because we have more of an audience than the film. So he puts his hand over my mouth and I put my fingers into his and we both come at the same time. The movie is over but we stay there and curl into each other and he whispers into my ear about how much he hates Valentines Day, and I wipe the red lipstick off his neck.
And we laugh.
