IN A HOUSEBOAT I'LL BE WAITING

she will probably be late; will arrive 23 minutes after schedule, in a haste, hair shuffled and shoulder in slight pain from the weight of cigarettes and poetry in her purse. i will have checked my watch 32 times, re-read the text which stated i will be there, babe, 18 times. skipped 29 rocks into the lake.

she will be wearing black tights and boots. will have cute, black overalls. a scarf and a white blouse. a creme colored crocheted cap; gloves, large sunglasses, a coffee, a half-smoked cig ashed violently by a howling wind. she will be wearing dark red lipstick, will have a smile on her face.

she will say sorry for being late, for making me wait so long. will give me a hug - deep surprising hug. will smell of two bodies in bed on an autumn evening while the rhythm of pitter pattering rain explains the word love. she will want to talk to me for hours, even will, much later, hide the fact that she cannot keep her eyes open, hide the fact that she would only sleep if she could be with me.

she will touch my arm. she will laugh too loud at something dumb i said. she will stare without blinking deep in my eye when i am looking at a bird up high perched in a tree. she will lay her head on my chest as we lay back and guess what the animals in the clouds are thinking. she will ask how are you? are you happy? she will make me feel as if i am half asleep.

she will make of this moment what she wants: to be, fully and completely, loved.

and i can do that for her. i want to do that for her. i am waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting; for her.