Orchids

Here you are
you sit and enjoy your third cup of coffee
I on my second...

We fight our tired bodies--
the mere five hours of sleep.

Because we only have five days
and you tell me you must take me to La Fournil
so we can have French coffee and fig pastries...

and we must walk Seattle while it is warm and the sun is out
over the water.

It has been 7 years since we have done this;
looked into each other's eyes over coffee
talked after a night of lovemaking.

Your body is so new to me... thin
yet strong.

In bed, you pushed into me with the force of an animal
You were starved
You took no pity.

We had each become, man and woman
and our manic need for sex and intimacy
flashed in neon.

You are still tender, now
as you discuss your love of orchids
They hang by clothespins on strings from your ceiling...

They rarely bloom,
you tell me,  that is why I love them.

You have to wait for that moment,
after months of watering and waiting,
and then they blossom...

Their flowers detailed as origami
delicate as love resurrected.

And here I am,
in your city
for an unexpected visit.

I take my time to talk to you
my heartbeat is rapid,
my body electric.

I feel this new pull to you
for your body, for you inside me with intensity...

But I am not ready.
And what does all of this mean?

You continue to tend to the orchids,
place each one between your precise fingers.

I want this kind of love--
patient and unassuming.

Can we do that? Can we slow it down?
Can I bloom for you another day?