It’s such a beautiful, misty day here in the Appalachia.
I’m not aloud to say it– to speak it. My joy goes uncelebrated.
We drove on the Blue Ridge Highway to leave the keys in her abandoned truck for the tow driver.
She is mountain gritty and works with metals. I love her.
She doesn’t feed me like a woman should, like my ravenous ego would like it. Like my mother did.
I want my hair touched. My head comforted. I want my body stroked and I want to be naked most of the time.
I want legs spread wide and screams of ecstasy. I want endless celebration with food and drink and smoke. I want her to understand every word and take delight, as I do in each last sound.
I want her to know ‘despite this’ the joy I see in the bible; that I am saved; that there is no fear no strife no anger.
But I would never speak these things. Never.