and speeding up my death defying sleepless days is the only  thing i have left to do. I can fly on an idea for days, i can ride it like a surfer rides the waves, like i wish i could skate.

and they want me to write about the Devine, but they call it the erotic.

How else would they call it?

She made love to me once in the front seat of my Mazda. How could I forget?  It was broad daylight, my wife was driving.  I had slept before and dreamt of our passion for each other.  There was no pleasure that could ever come close to this misery, no splendor like this suffering.  Our tangled legs, too many in the bed, hot sleepless nights, hickies, hotels and hottubs, none of this can answer to the long stare of her sweet speckled eyes, or the way she sucked in her breath when i grabbed the hair at the back of her neck.  No memory or poem can speak to the swift arch of my wifes back or the click of my camera's shutter when the light and heat was just right.  How could I forget?  No woman ever held my attention with one soft touch the way she held me.  She tasted like rain, smelled like sweet honey & milk, moaned like she was not afraid and cried soft tears when she came, in my mouth, in our lives, in our hearts and in my car.  She slid into the front passenger seat right on top of me, pulled off her shrit and mine. She tilted the seat back, highwy 80 never looked so good, the car moved faster , desired careened into passion. We were kissing like we did not care, kissing like it was all that mattered and it was.

Years later I wondered if she remembered that long hot, passionate drive, if she remembered how my wife drove faster and faster till one of us came.  She looked back at me, "how could I forget?"

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and i never will even though...

even though she is dead.

even though i am divorced

even though i no longer have the mazda i still remember everylittle bit...sometimes it keeps me sane

othertimes it hurts.

sometimes i just cry