Always Nice



 

Dedicated to Mr. Egyptian

 

It’s always nice when you go out with someone and it never appears there will be an inkling or a static of an unnatural intention involved.

It’s always nice when you meet with someone new.  There’s nothing to resolve.  No past that comes forth looking to dissolve.  Despite your calling ahead and showing up late, they give you the sweetest shining smile anyway from a distance.  I call this coexistence.  And this is why the beginning days are always the best with it’s surefire insistence.  One can see such happiness glitter.. pure disco.. imaginations run like electric pistols zapping out crystals.. and something happens, a tremendous high on human interaction that may or may not fall into the
abstraction of profuse attraction.

To have them stretch out their arm and surprise you with a chocolaty pink-hearted Valentine’s bag is rather unexpected.  And in this moment both of you are interconnected.  So you thanked and smiled and quickly reflected on how you were affected.  Then tried to play it off as if you werent’ especially eager to dip a hand inside to see and notice the blush hit your feet:  A black and white plush cat with big beady eyes like frogs gazing up at you like home.  It was enough to tickle your funny bone.  (But still you wonder how did he realize you adore cats.  What gave it away?  And why is he giving you foreplay?)

It’s always nice when you go out with someone and you can relax about how the evening goes like poetry or prose.  Stories from which way and well into Morocco dinner makes conversations and expressions real lottery winners.  You dig the way he spoils you rotten with a variety of food:  Lamb, Chicken, Yellow rice, Eggplant & Arabic Tea.  How he makes sure to hold the doors open for you even if it means running for it with a mischievous glee.  Or how he walks you back through the busy avenues across to catch the noisy train.  And the brain becomes aflame when you learn expectations aren’t to be found, in a kiss or standing close to one another, like an indicated lover, where inches of your faces fuck close,
like interlocking hands. 

And you both understand, the depths in which adults cry out in constant demands.  But you and him speak in silence, in your right of freedoms without plans.  The night goes on without him and of course, you enjoyed yourself.  You pulled him in and say, “Give me a hug!”  Yet with the stutter pause of awkwardness, both of you’s felt like dead bugs.  So you pecked his cheek and watched him light as a spark plug on a new lease.  It was what it was meant to be.  A beautiful innocent night full of what could be.

We all need more of these.

Pennington

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