luis

[Author's note:  While I'm taking a break, I'm reposting some old favorites.  This one was originally pubplished on August 17, 2006]

Last night drinking tequila made me think about a man I loved in Chicago who brought his lips to mine and kissed tequila right into me, softer than any shot glass.  Burned hotter going down too, my hands buried in the black curls at the base of his neck.  We were in a bar near my house.  Recently divorced, I was bold--reckless even.  He always took my hand when we crossed the street.  He danced with me to songs we picked on the juke box.  Danced close.  He whispered in my ear in a language I didn't always understand.  But I learned it.  How I craved those agave kisses, those hips pressed against mine as our feet crunched the peanut shells thrown aside by the beer drinkers on their barstools.   I never thought about the consequences then.  I didn't have to, not yet.  I just loved him, wild and sweet, nectar made from cactus.