From A (from Bee) to Z (Safe Sex #3) [a journal poem] A random encounter, a chance delight. She sat in a chair, which may have well been a lounging couch, I sat next to her, in a chair that may have well been bathing in sunlight, and –by the causality of a magazine that she was merely browsing- the furnace in my chest was fueled and stoked into a fire for our conversing… Still…nervous as a bee approaching an unfamiliar flower, I buzz, like the bumbling-bee only I can be, -being careful not to be overt with my bobble- …being careful to not wobble, tilt, or, topple… but to merely give, ^flutter by flutter^, to gravity…so I may land as sensual as a feather; …but instead, I prove my previous bee-behavioral thesis: with a fall&fail, with a thump on my rump, that’s followed by a blurt of some improvised blubbery: ‘Ah, Discover, that’s is a great magazine. Are you a subscriber? I am… …I see you are reading about one of my favorite subjects, too. Ya know, what do you think about all of this nano-technology? All those miniscule robots – acting for our favor, with a hive like mentality.’ She laughs…and I struggle to gauge her range, “Oh, I am just casually reading. I’m not too familiar with any nano stuff.” I push up my glasses; and straighten up in my chair, ‘Oh well, hell! The possibilities are mind-boggling, they are…infinite/infinitesimal!’ Then, looking into her eyes, I added, ‘…but of course, they’re brilliantly altering…as they are dangerously threatening.’ She folds her magazine and pivots to me. “Really? You sound so psyched about them. Are you some science major?” (…I’m netted, tangled, in her eyes… and released to only stare down at my feet…) ‘No, just a science geek; if anything I’d be a journal major, doubling in dabbling at a lover of life from A to Z.’ My nervousness tickles at me; but I’m merely grateful that I didn’t sketch her a complete stereotype by chortling as well. She chuckles, again, in a pitch I cannot catch, (although I am already needlessly cursing myself over the miss) “Oh? So, you’re double majoring in some fake degrees, and a lover of all things A to Z?” Another laugh, this time I know it’s jest, but still not sure what at. Instead on lamenting over paranoid speculations, I’m picking up these specks of nature, of hazelnut, in her oaken eyes… And I am stammering for any specks of conversation from the ruinations of my tries, ‘No, I mean, yes. I love…anything…well almost anything. Whatever celebrates life…anything that…explores reality… So, yeah, all these things - A to Z… From… ah…Aesop’s fables to…ya’know…stuff like…Zodiac symbols.’ I shame my self with my forehead in palm, and my shoulders quake while my head shakes… but she laughs, this time in a rhythm with me that I cannot mistake, for it’s the sound of candy unwrapping, of a jolly-rancher undressing… ”From Aesop to the Zodiac… and, really, all those letters in between?” One of her eyebrow lifts, and suddenly I’m darting, from this flower to the floor, those vibrant eyes to my dull toes… ‘Yeah…yeah, I’m definitely not lying when it comes to something so…fleeting.’ I sense a hint, an uncomfortable silence verging on becoming a pregnant pause; and I eject: ‘I’m sorry, I was just trying to be stupid, or silly - whichever, really.’ Her eyes brighten and those specks shimmer like lacquer in the light. I am awkward at a level beyond a tipsy toddler…or a fumbling bee, and before I can summon all the courage, as young Arthur did before Excalibur, a man comes out of the bathroom to tell her “Hey, Honey, I’m ready; let’s go.” She puts down her magazine and tells me it was a pleasure… I nod in honest agreement, but with a somber smile as a place card. When she is out the door… I crack my journal open… and I start my pen buzzing… M. L. Michael 2.16.12’
From A (from Bee) to Z
A random encounter, a chance delight.
She sat in a chair, which may have well been a lounging couch,
I sat next to her, in a chair that may have well been bathing in sunlight,
and –by the causality of a magazine that she was merely browsing-
the furnace in my chest was fueled and stoked into a fire for our conversing… […]
Every Breath Poetic 