He was perfect.
Dark hair peeking out
from under his cap,
dark young buck eyes
the color of my yesterday,
flawless skin
matching earrings
slender hips
lighthouse smile
and generous fist bumps.
Wiry from bussing tables
at a burger joint
where the three rivers flow,
all of 21 on a good day.
I want to see
what’s under his belt buckle,
that taut, smooth belly
and enticing trail.
I sip my beer,
undressing him three ways:
in the bathroom stall,
behind the kitchen,
against the wall out back.
Baby
I met 1000 people today
and you’re the only one
I remember.
I imagine asking your name,
saying you’re beautiful
confessing I’d take you to bed
if I were younger
hoping you’d say
age ain’t nothing but a number.
It’s worked before.
Instead, I lie
avoid your eyes
pretend I don’t know
where you are every second
like a lioness on the prowl
faking I don’t notice
when you leave my sight.
Because the truth is
I know myself
and how this ends.
Having you once
or twenty-one times
is never enough
and it always ends badly
because we both want
what the other can’t give:
time.
So I drink a little too much
drive a little too fast
around the bends
and growl into my pillow.
I prefer the pain
of silence and missed acquaintance
than the agony
of eventually
ripping you from me.
I can’t tell if you know
all the girls want you
or just don’t care
but I want more than your body.
I want to live inside
your undigested heart
forever playmates
of timeless joy
before life betrays
and scars you.
But I’m sober now
and older, how
do I forget
that men like you
walk this earth?
Let the check come
before me
and get paid
walk away
and pray a love song
to myself
that this craving
is as good and sacred
as its denial.
That perhaps I, too
might entice an unknown stranger
someday
by a river.
© S. Rinderle, July 2025
