Donald Sutherland Reminded Me

My Fantasies have changed 
They’ve returned to making love 
All the way
Hearing Merry Christmas 
I love you
And exchanging homemade Christmas presents in December 
That delight
And surprise 
And stir
And make one feel alive
Creative gifts
That light bonfires on our favorite beaches which fill our shoes with sand
Better than a sailing ship across the Adriatic 
While you watch me float ‘round pregnant on blue water
Soaking up the sun 
Carrying our beautiful baby boy in my belly
Your image 
And honesty 
And monogamy
And bravery
Bravery I do have
I had it when we met
But alone on my raft lost at sea I forgot
until I saw the map of brilliant stars back in the sky
And saw the bonfires on the beach, red and rising 
And I followed a friendly fish back home to Upstate House
Upstate House
Where magazine photos transform into cloth, steel, marble and paint
Where we soak in long, hot baths and listen to African jazz or Bon Jovi in bone white tubs long enough for our long legs like in London hotels 
Upstate House
With floor to ceiling windows looking onto a perfect green pitch where pink peonies you planted bloom 
I let you choose it all - at our Upstate House- the paint colors, the fixtures, the floors, the sofa we hold each other on, the book shelves that together we fill as we grow old, the stereo you play and tell me your favorite childhood stories with
And I am grateful 
I admire your taste, your hard work
I just make the Sugo and set it on the dining room table you also chose 
You pull out a chair for me
I read aloud to you a story about us
Our alter egos
Who are divine beings
Incredibly well dressed
Sexy motherfuckers
Like when I leaned across the pool table
And you felt the arrow strike
Sometimes you lay me across the dining room table
On my belly
After a bottle of Trader Joe’s Italian red wine
You swear is good 
That you carry in your backpack on the F train

When I wear a French white dress
And your favorite high heels 
You like that
You like my body waiting on the table for you
And I like making you happy
It makes me happy 
And filled 
In one way
An important way
Donald Sutherland reminded me
Of those feelings 
Of being filled
That fear and tragedy buried
My light
Worth millions
Of sparkling stars against a black sky
And fine Belgian chocolates melting on my tongue and swirling against red wine you poured me
And sweet furry Peaches glued to my mouth bought at the Bodega
And lighting bolts
Not knocking the wind out of me
And supernatural signs
And clever connections 
And feeling like home
Sutherland is an old man
But could be any man
A young man
In my eyes 
I am grateful for him
His long, lean legs in a tight, tailored, Italian wool suit with soft socks sitting on a medieval hotel bed just before we ride a Venetian water taxi and hook pinky fingers together like fish 
And get married 
His hypnotic, underwater blue eyes 
His puffy, parted lips wet with Whisky
His giant, warm hands like baseball gloves
From Yankee Stadium stained with hot chicken 
His deeply intense stares, protecting me
His quiet, heroic laughter which makes his body shake
And all the good kissing
You know the kind
With multiple, shared smiles
And erratic heartbeats 
And nervousness 
Which is only natural 
For a first time
It’s the next step
In this vast sea 
Or luxurious bathtub
we share 
that I could give birth
Or drown in
But then I’m brave
And I relax
And now I’m floating
It’s pure bliss
Like an American girl at the beach with a boy in Naples wearing walkmen and sharing mixed tapes
Or like Jane Fonda tugging the back of Klute’s jacket after visiting the fruit market on a New York Street at night 
Just being near
And sometimes being led 
Or held
Is so simple 
And so nice
It’s not much to ask for
But at the same time can be a lot to ask for
And I get that
But simple
And natural 
Ah, yes
It’s not hard work 
It’s a gift
We never had to work for
But were given
Like when we’re quiet
like mischievous mice
On that hotel bed 
Except for our breath
Twirling tongues 
Gasping for air
Inhaling lungs
Like nitris 
Light headed
It’s all automatic 
When I touch his skin
Or he touches mine
And our tongues never detach
Like octopus tentacles
Stuck and suctioned
And dipping into one another’s 
Mouths like we’re feeding baby birds
With his hair matted down with sweat
Boyish and vulnerable
With potent, bulging, blue sea eyes 
I caress the soft, oily cheeks of his face
Tasting delicious and salty like sardines
And his behind 
Raised and bare with glowing white skin 
As I glide my fingertips under and over to his slim tummy 
Which tickles
Against his giant mess of grayish, curly hair 
Like Zeus
Hiding what I want
A gift he wants to give
A lightening bolt
As I give myself to him
A star
He knows it is a gift
I know he knows
It’s my everything 
It’s the very best 
McIntosh, of course
Sending surreal sonar 
Across waves and roaring winds
Even the smallest animals hear
Even the nocturnal ones
Buried beneath earth
Or the largest land mammals 
Hiding in caves
Or playfully rolling in the dirt or snow
Eating bamboo 
Our song is carried around the world 
And back to us
We are the presents
For our Christmas 

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