Connecting, like magnets on that first night
She hesitates; the last Bart train leaving the platform,
Not wanting to leave his side
First kiss, on the platform; holding on
“Don’t leave me,” she thinks,
“I don’t want to,” he thinks.
They end up at the Holiday Inn
The night, full of their desire
Beautiful, endless, beautiful,
Holding on. Holding on.
In the bathtub, he holds her, caresses her, kisses her,
Washes her, pushes her hair out of her eyes. Wet silence in the night, broken by little droplets of water when they move.
Making love, endlessly, passionately.
All throughout the night.
In the morning they dress.
She smokes a cigarette on the balcony
As they watch the morning begin on the noisy city street below
They go for coffee,
The passion and desire of the night still fresh
When her eyes lock with his, she has to look away
His eyes bore into her soul, she thinks he can see her from the inside out
Several rendezvous ensue. A picnic; a twilight drive above the City; watching it twinkle beneath them, a walk on the beach…Moments of deep connection;
Moments of passion. But perhaps it was all in her mind, and not at all in his.
She feels it is real. She wants to buy what he’s selling,
Her need is real, her want is real, her passion is real.
But it’s not real. It’s made in China; a trinket made for many;
For he is a pretender. And he’s a good salesman. And she bought it.
But now she can’t even ask for a refund, because she already spent her money, and feels like a fool. Stupid girl. No refunds. No returns. All sales are final.
It comes easy to him, and he forgets; turns off; disconnects; disengages.
All she has left is a shopping bag full of twisted emotions; and once again, like a broken doll, she has to sift through her sadness to untwist them and make sense of it all.