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v u l v a l i c i o u s A giggling boy love affair from very, very far away I've been dreaming about a faraway boy who I met only briefly. I've been thinking about wrapping myself around him in the bath or the bed and just lying there, warm and tingling, her laughter the only thing I can hear. I want to kiss him in front of a Rothko painting, hold her hand and sigh into the brightness of a thousand single colors that are one perfect block on feeling. I have this feeling that if the boy and I were closer in proximity, art galleries would fall at our feet, waiting to be explored. Inside, we'd talk about how Frankenthaler was cheated out of a spot among the greats (even though she has one, sort of) and how race still doesn't get talked about by anyone but non-white artists and one or two white allies. I imagine his hand trailing down my back, pausing slightly at my waist as we walk through the too-quiet, art-filled halls giggling just a little too loudly. The boy fills my thoughts. He's smart and funny, and in my mind her little boy eyes get squinty with promise when he smiles. I want to be very close to his face, to feel warm breath on my mouth and have our noses touch lightly. I want to whisper conspiratorially to her in a child's voice that uses big words. I want this boy as much as I've ever wanted anyone. And I've never wanted someone so far away, and so briefly known, so very much. He's making me melt without even knowing it. And all I can do is keep computer-flirting until I find a way to move beyond. When I go, I want to take him with me, laughing all the way. |