Sometimes I turn my kitchen into a mom club to get through the chores... anyone else?
Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine a life where you, my beautiful lover, come home around 6. Dinner is ready or almost and you greet me in the kitchen. I’m happy to see you and you’re happy to see me.
Our table sat in a dimly lit corner of a side alcove off the main dining room in an aging Italian restaurant. We were fairly isolated from the rest of the diners, just the way Sir likes it. I pressed a glass of cool prosecco to my lips and drank in the smooth sparkling wine. As I swallowed, I felt the coolness in my throat followed by a heat rising to my cheeks. I could feel his eyes on me. I returned the glass to the table and slowly raised my eyes to meet his steel-gray stare. His gaze was amiable but intense. He was studying me. I felt my lips drying up from the drink, and ran my tongue over them to bring back some moisture. I smiled, he did not.
Softly you touch Your mouth to mine, Lips brushing lips Tasting thrill mixed with wine. Tongues gently play... Move in close for this kiss. Years moved through time Brought us here to this bliss.
When you discard me, be sure to close the lid on the bin. Walk away. Don’t look back to reach in... I’ve already moved on. This side of the road, I’ve been discarded here before... I know my way home by heart. They call it muscle memory. And my heart always remembers. She never forgets.
I keep drinking like the answer is etched on the bottom of the empty bottle. Maybe I haven’t found the right bottle?
Anxiety. Feels like I could choke on it. It's playing on my mind, churning in my stomach, and grasping at my throat all at the same time.