Nostalgia

Showgirls on VH1 was something
I caught often. Paint.exe bikinis, a child
couldn’t tell. It looked real enough and
we knew. Under there was a world, a whole world
(and nothing but the world)
        someday to be explored.

The water from the tap tastes
like static. TV snow painted CRT plague,
a clicker lost in a couch cushion where
we left it as my mouth visited regions of
You, a warm young female who, at this time
we knew nothing of our future,
of our lives together, of our children,
but we knew of our bodies, of what
makes you or I tick, tickle, come
home during a late night of Alley poured
beer and bourbon, years later and I
still explore you, I’ve been here and there
but every time feels uncharted. We floated
many times,
in downtown Spokane from the Satellite
to a parking garage,
holding hands always, loving you
loving me.