Missed Connections

Shaped with the gossamer thread of hope and spun sugared desire comes the vixen Idea, who parades herself to all who can see.

She’s a teasing thing. All swish and flirt, all tease and show. Just enough so we
Want.
Just.
A bit.
More.

Many see but few remember; for we are bound in concrete and fast food chains, “what to wear”, “when to eat”, “is my boss looking…will I be on time?”

And sometimes the scent will find us.
And we will look up and see her standing there awash, ablush, scarlet with such knowledge that she might explode if she does not whisper those sweat words. And as she smiles and spreads her legs to show us the path...

…the cell phone rings, the girl-friend calls, and the car in front slams on his breaks. And we forget.Most of us forget, most of the time. But enough of us remembers that we are unhappy. The part of us that smells fear, and wishes to be touched knows. The part of us that sometimes for no reason at all wishes to raise our voice to the sky and scream, “I am alive Mutha Fuckers and I am not afraid!” knows. The part of us that genuinely thinks about biting our cube mate if he makes
one
more
stupid
remark.
That part knows and sometimes despairs that she will never come back.

That we will never see her smile again, hear her laughter, and in an instant; Know.