Lake Water Woman gets kissed
I stood facing the Buffalo Man, a great indecision of air between us. He stirred nothing in me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe if I could get closer. Why can’t I get close to you?”
“You don’t want me enough.”
“Oh but I do.” I knew that I did, I remembered writing it down.
“You only want me for my money.”
First I laughed, and then I stopped laughing. Under the absurdity of that accusation, there was truth. I had pinned on him my hopes of a way out of debt. I was thinking he would help me make some money. And all the pressure I felt to hurry it up, make this connection, take it somewhere, were all rooted in the idea that this liaison would produce something sellable.
And that’s why I didn’t feel the pull anymore. It’s not his salability that I love.
I let it fall away like an ice shell cracking and the distance fell with it and there he was, breathing into my hair. “Want me because I am strong and true. Want me because everything alive in you wakens to my touch.”
He kissed me then. He tasted like, oh—he tasted like lake water.
He tasted like me.