Bar Tales Chapter 3: Longing

It is always dangerous to talk about love while staring into a girl's eyes.

The big brown vessels that are mirrors, that are tunnels, that are gavels rendering judgment.

You were a feminist who hated questions.

A traveler who loved the bed.

Maybe you are a fierce lover.

Maybe you bite and cry.

I hope you unravel like a ball of yarn.

I hope you slink that sexily.

I bet you have been broken. Hurt.

You want someone to love. I just want something real.

I want to fall in love with an angel and teach her about God.

I want to have my heart cry.

I want that joy and that uncertainty.

I want something even jazz can't bury.

I need more than cool Dallas nights.

I need more than her beauty. Her soft brown features.

I need more than what she can give me.

I need pain. I need that brokenness. That fragility.

That triumphant strength, that ecclesiastic exhale.

I need that faith, that judgment, that fire,

that loneliness, that mystery -

I need so much more than just a good fuck.