Two (an excerpt)
“We kiss in Sperlonga,” he promises. “…my voice is F flat, it’s terrible. I know this.”
“I only dream of you,” I tell him. “Every night. Every night, I dream of your touch.”
“Every dream, I feel your touch.”
He’s been in Italy for two weeks and we’ve been together two months and there have been two other humans in my life to turn my head.
But… nothing like this.
When his voice touches the atmosphere, my body leans forward. Every time. Once… twice…
He tastes like a fresh water spring when we kiss. And I drink and drink. For hours.
“I kiss you three hours,” he tells to me over Skype.
We’ve never been apart this long before.
Two weeks after we met, I went to Tahiti. I was meant to go home to Australia afterwards, but I couldn’t. Instead, I vowed, naked, on the private patio of my Tahitian hut: “Torno a casa presto… mi manchi…”
That’s when he said, “Ho una voglia pazza di fare L amore con te. Solo con te. Per sempre.”
I came back to Manhattan for two weeks, and then he went to Italy. Since then, we only talk. Counting days until I land in Rome.
Every day; I usually see him… I count the seconds. I smoke. I bite my nails.
I try to sleep. I don’t want to wake up until we are together.
When I let my hair down, I feel him fall on my shoulders. And suddenly, I’m comfortable.