Happy Stutter Day***

verbally, as well as phsically, a stutter-filled day.
good-ish workout.
sort of "bleh", really.
saw someone I used to work with.
imagined saying "hi", but didn't.
remembered the funny jokes,
his girlfriend and her pierced tongue,
their shared history of addiction and NA--
her relapse.
he looked well, and I remembered his kids would be
grown.
teenagers, all.
and I didn't really mind not saying 'hi',
even though I usually love running into old friends.
I guess maybe I've finally learned to let go--
of the casual friends, at least.
then I caught a glimpse of green arms--
intricate ink, so alive and bright.
I caught my breath, and pushed my eyes to the attached face.
and looked away quickly,
blinking.
very familiar,
and yet much taller and thinner--
and in entirely the wrong state.
but.
very...
attractive.
he noticed me noticing him--
out of the corners of my eyes, and through lowered lashes.
he kept himself in my line of vision,
on purpose?
perhaps.
I can't help what my mind shows me,
tells me--
feeds me.
I imagined him.
naked in his long skininess,
and how hot the heat between us might be.
or might not, realistically.
but the playroom chick came to get me.
they didn't believe me that twin B has allergies,
and insisted that if it was pink eye he had to leave.
it's not.
but whatever.
I was almost done.
with my workout...
it was a jarring return to reality, however.
and as the boys selected their candy from the machine,
sexy beanpole walked out the front door.
we were just behind him.
as I turned to buckle a child in a seat--
my eyes fell on his,
in his car, the next row over.
he watched me smile down at my child,
then drove away...

moments.
we live life in moments.
hundreds of thousands--
millions--
of moments, all piled together.
sometimes there is a tangible space between moments,
sometimes moments overlap furiously, breathlessly,
or intertwine--
each moment still precious as its own entity,
but enhanced by those moments around it.

I've lost myself.
I think I'm riding shotgun, in the dusty cab of a big rig.
across the ocean.
I hope I'm not changing stations on your favorite songs,
or falling asleep when you need my conversation to prop your own lids open.
I am being lulled by that growling rumbling beast of an engine,
the smell of diesel permeates my clothes and hair--
but you could still taste roses on the skin just beneath my ear.
and sitting across from me in a diner, at 4 in the morning we would laugh,
and fight over the ketchup that neither of us uses.
to run the back of my hand across the night's stubble on your chin--
a thousand days of summer, I would trade.
yeah, I miss ya.
yeah, I pout like a little girl when I realize others miss you, too.
but.
they don't have as much to miss as I do, I remind myself gently.
and you'll be done with all that, soon...?
soon.
ugly word, in all its vague splendor.
soon.
soon should mean tomorrow--
today.
next week, at least...
hey, no one ever accused me of being patient.
or having too little passion,
or dreaming too briefly, too narrowly, too monochromatically.
and that is as it should be.
I love that we each have our own set of standards...
even if I'm the only one who's right.
heh.
well.
I will go now.
since no one's commenting these past few days anyway.
ya lazy fucks.

___________________
*** is it just me, or does "Stutter" look most deliciously like, "Slutter"?