Limerence

From the moment I feel that spark
in the palm of your hand and let it
run over the bone of my hip, I am placed in a
euphoria that drags along with me for months and
years.

It keeps me awake at night and clouds my focus
during the conference calls, bathroom breaks, and
monotonous drives home. It puts me to sleep as I stand
over the boiling pot of spinning webs.

I can feel every stroke of your finger across my face, my thoughts of it.
I am trapped in my memory and longing for the silence
of water falling from the showerhead as I drink you
in over and over.

It makes my heart flutter and pound and fumble to catch its breath. It makes my mind start and
stop and sputter like a Chrysler with no battery. I hold it quietly around my middle, to
protect me from the emptiness of acceptance.

This is a dirty trick of an imbalanced mind. It is not the very real experience and longing that I try to compress with this very unhelpful, old washcloth.

An Introduction

My friend Laurie and I were walking down Mill Avenue one quiet Friday night.  We were on our way to go dancing and cheer up a friend of hers with a fun Girl's Night Out.  As we were walking, a dead bird fell from a tree and *barely* missed landing on our heads.  Instead, it landed directly in front of us, like the tree was offering the crusty black crow as a gift.  

We were both horrified and screamed. 

The night afterwards was a mixed bag.  The dancing wasn't working.  I was picked up on by a drunk and agreessive woman.  Our dinner wasn't what we wanted, but we did have a very heartfelt conversation with Laurie's friend and wandered the stores for a while.

The whole night reminded me of a dog that doesn't understand that you don't want the "retrieved gifts" that they bring to your back door.  It reminded me of humans that behave in this manner, too.

From that point forward--- any gift that 'means well at your expense' is referred to as a Dead Bird.