I still remember
satin, sweat.
My fingers pressing
into your back.
And her bare shoulders--
tight, tan skin.
Hers warm, yours clammy
within long sleeves
in the wet heat
of June.

I held you too long.
It was late
and growing later
and I'd been drinking
to forget what I'd had
to witness.
My fingers pressed
with need
into you--
my first and only excuse
to embrace you.
My pressing was desperate
on that gravel driveway.
And I held you too long,
but you let me.

White satin under my fingers,
damp skin beneath that,
the feel of your flesh
under layers of clothing.
My goodbye.
She looked happy,
and you did, too.

"Be good," I whispered
against your ear.
I don't know what it meant.
"Be good!" I said
emphatically to her,
wrapping my heavy arms
around her tiny shoulders
to seem friendly.
And, "Be good!" I shouted
as I stumbled away,
not caring if I embarrassed
my friends
who dragged me towards the car.

"Just be good to him,"
you didn't hear me mumble
from a distance
as I watched her
standing there with you,
this girl I thought was too young
and different from you,
next to you in her dress,
probably cut from the same fabric
as your vest.

(Which I remember
when I miss you.)

And the feel of it
as vivid as if it were now:
White satin. Sweat.

03/15/2008

Posted on 03/20/2008
Copyright © 2024 Devon E Mattys