Where is your liver?

So here we are, you declaring emphatically to wait staff and anyone who would listen that I am your girlfriend. You finally letting go and accepting what plainly is. You willingly sitting at a restaurant with me and my son. Does this scare you? Are you afraid of this reality you have found yourself in?

The other night as with many nights you let me stay in your bed, you let me wriggle my curves up to you cupped in comfort, legs and toes wrapped and curled, hands grabbing fingers. So why is there something missing? Should I tell you this? Should I say it out loud? Set it in stone with my words. Should I demand in your presence that you kiss me hard and long, nuzzle the back of my neck with your nose, want me sweet and lusty like dark chocolate, want me deep and slow like rivers in the forest that meander without agenda. Want me please. 

I sit across from you most mornings in a restaurant over cappucino. I look at you and admire your hansomeness in my presence. We enjoy each others company this fact sparkles as plain as day. But do you need me like water on a hot day, do you want me as much as you want that lemon merengue pie we unabashedly shared before we ate any real food in the morning? 

The other night when we wickedly smoked a joint that would have gotten us executed in this country of ours, I wanted you badly but you couldn't even find one deep passionate kiss. You blamed it on your busy hands bored in bed without me the day before. You yourself said you were oddly wooden in response to me. Your soul appeared to the novices eye an empty bucket, there were no kisses to be found, only thoughtfully spoken and felt words. A brain attatched to your handsome body. Does your heart exist? Or does the Balinese culture have it right and it is actually your liver and not the heart with which you feel love and yours is simply damaged from too many years of alcohol abuse. 

I look at you and find you endlessly sweet and handsome, but I still have no idea how you find me. You keep this secret feeling hidden to yourself. 

I told you the story of my sordid two year love triangle which was unfulfilled but had  more lusty unbridled passion without requite than you are willing to release to me now. Is it me? Is it us? Will you take the next girl you date home before desert and throw her on the bed without conversation? 

Is this just a moment in time? A beautiful moment filled with shared laughs and intimate thoughts and long intelectual conversations. Should I not degrade this moment by talking about it? Should I leave it for what it is and not pick it apart like the remnants of a turkey after thanksgiving day. 

This is my strategic plan, my logic model, my oath. I promise in this moment to court you instead of nag you. I will find secret charming ways to winnow out kisses from places even you didn't know existed. I will not demand them but instead invoke them like spells. I will conjure them like spirits, concoct them like soups in winter. Then and only then if after a time I discover your bucket is truly empty I will have to leave you to seek out greener pastures. Pastures full with so many kisses thrown my way that I can't even catch them all. I will not release you to yourself just yet man of my moment. I still have faith that there is a heart or a liver hidden burried beneath forgotten leaves of soggy heartache. Will you let me find it?