My Perfect Woman

My Perfect Woman

She walks through the door,
the fluidity of her stride pulls
my attention towards her.
My thoughts, the ones shackled
to the neurons deepest
in my subconscious, force
their way through my lips.
Nervous, I trip over my own
feet, I stumble into tables
and catch myself
on strangers' shoulders.

Her kiss is bitter,
the taste of pine needles
rests on my tongue.
Her tongue tickles
the back of my throat,
it reverberates the length
of my body: Warms
my chest and stomach,
I feel them rise they way
they did when I first looked
at my first crush. My heart beats
faster, pushing blood against
the skin on my face.

She's never said no.

Not even in public, as long as I promise
I won't be too loud or too obvious.

Some nights, when I get home
from work, still angry at rude
customer, she is waiting for me
on the kitchen counter, her top
already off.

She's always leaves before
I wake up. But I don't mind
making the bed after tossing through
a light sleep or cleaning the mess
we mad of the kitchen table..

It's in my nature to indulge, now and then.
So pour the tonic, twist the lime.
Oh, how I love you,
Gin.