A Poem For May (Part 1)

I spent the last four days in Chicago with my pretty, pretty girl. It was the best vacation ever and I'm still processing it. At this point, all I know is that I am still head-over-heels for this girl. Fortunately, my pretty girl had some stream-of-consciousness thoughts that she wrote down in a poem while she was heading home on the train, and sent them to me. She wrote as follows:

A poem for May:

First glimpse…sitting at the bar, watching as you pushed through the doors from the street.

Your smile, your eyes…my eyes wet with tears of joy…your height…no one has your strength of presence or your hands…on my back for a hug that lasted as long as it could.

Dinner…sparkling lights strung across a restaurant designed by a friend of Mussolini…eggplant (how appropriate🍆), chicken Marsala and an old guy from Gary and his younger (much younger) companion. Our own discussion of ers and ests as in “I love you morer”and, “no, no…I love you morest.”

Infinity won.

Massage on the king sized bed with two groovy duvets, Sex on fire, Barry White, oral fireworks and your own explosion on my behind. Sleep.

Daylight. A large window with the Chicago Theater sign and State Street, that great street, below us.

Breakfast for two…identical orders for identical appetites.

Cold. Chicago cold. Wind. Chicago wind.

Shelter in the Art Institvte of Chicago. Buddhas and masks and mosaics and jade axe blades and plans for our own masterpieces…how hard can it be?…and Hopper and Monet and Casset and couches with faces. Dying for a lie down. Diet Coke and coke and a bite of cheesecake and Parker with the green hair and million dollar smile and the kind of kindness that makes our hearts hurt in kind. Our prayers that the world only returns his sweetness with sweetness for eternity.

Two miles…how far can that be? Two miles that’s how far…on already weary feet and knees and hips and backs…your sympathy pains for my own.

Kosciusko!!! Magnificent man observed on horseback in bronze with my own magnificent man by my side.

Two more miles back…holding hands, you touching my back, picking flowers from the trees for a ceremony that marks what we already know. We are forever. For infinity. For eternity.

Downstairs…Dinner at Atwoods…a burger and fries and the Edmund Fitzgerald. We both decide it is both the best and the worst name for a beer. Both things can be true at the same time.

You massage my hip and knee and tuck me in bed under my groovy duvet and

To sleep, perchance to dream…mine…Seymour with a yellow Mohawk outdone by yours a midget with a death lawnmower.

Part 2 to follow

#poem #chicago #thisiswhatlovelookslike #vacation #2025 #polish