distance (part twenty-nine)

Yo, Denver. Have you seen me?
Because the Ruffian Lite you chanced upon
at the most celebratory, creative, and joyful wedding she's been to in her life

never really leaves her skin.

She covers it with sleeves and pants
and swaddles herself in.
Adventure is something she sighs over,
but something that is not enough to pull her off her stomach in her leisure,
and her money goes to bills and more cocoon material.
She is no bulldozer.
Around people like you, she plasters herself to the sides;
a wallflower.

And if God was truth, it'd be the God's truth
that you really can't get her to sing karaoke unless she's inebriated. No bullshit.

She prides herself on being honest with everyone,
except her mother,
and that's only sometimes lies.

She wears her skin thick around her valuable organs,
but thin around her neck, at the nape,
and at the places where her earlobes meet the rest of her head.
She is good at observing.

You did something to her that night that Lindy magnetized both your hand and hers.
She felt comfortable not knowing where you and the night were going,
and she knew what she wanted, and this time--
you have no idea the rarity of moments like these in her life--
she glided on the timeline of that celebration
straight towards you.

You gave her three kisses:
One to ask,
One to retest,
and one to fulfill your selfishness.

You had her, Roman.
You had her the next night, too,
and this time, she pushed you against the backseat and had you, too.
You seemed to woo her just enough.
She took sensuous delight in your shivering breath of delivery,
your shuddering lips against her ear, her back.

You've got her, Silver Dollar.

You flew away
and left her with the golden, glowing feeling of her fingers closing around the brass ring.

She wishes you were still here,
because you made being Deviant
so easy
and so comfortable.

Oh, you teasing thrill--
Visit soon. Write every now and then.

The lake man will have to earn it.
All you have to do is ask.

Have you seen me? I think she went around the world twice without me,
Because now, she knows how to get what she wants.

And she's selfish,
And she's greedy,
And she wants bad things with you.

-Dana Winter