The Naples number I was fixing to play on the 33 had the ring of newness and adventure...and Gabriela poured on her sweet gutsy Italian ideas and charms, making me feel blessed in some diamond way, cut to exact glass emotive fixation...so I was drinking it all up and fixing my move, telling myself that it was time to go...meanwhile forgetting for the hundredth time that I never made a good decision that I myself decided to make...I was simply too taken by my own romanticism because I was impatient, bum steer, and randy. Not to mention busy inhaling my won sweet smell practicing my cataclysmic tantric cock moves, and writing (handwritten) poems commemorating the countdown seven days until my arrival in empty big lot Colorado—good, strong, male poems, lyric and right, to Gabriela, which I then typed on Blue oversized postcards sent off one a day so that I could keep her heart turned into the stream of the emanation, even when crushing...I was hitting on vibrant poetry nerves, reading Tao, and typing on a big beige IBM Selectric in my office at the college, and humming along...and before I knew it I was on a plane to Colorado
It was late fall, maybe Thanksgiving, no earlier, maybe it was my birthday, end of September and I had written the seven poems that made up the week prior to my arrival and I was firmly planted at the base of the foothills looking up, mortifying my passion as much as I could, rending the code of the samurai, trying myself like gold in the furnace to be righteous and sing in tenor...my mother liked Gabriela a lot, and so that was riding on my mind...nonetheless, I was arrived and enthusiastic, dangerously so, to make better acquaintance with Gabriela’s father, with her two daughters, with her tenable niceties...
One night we spent together in her house with the girls asleep and it felt not so much strange airs but empty airs, a house with just us, willy nilly to become just one...this was the night and the only night where Gabriela and I would make certain love in the Italian sense, love ripe with surrender and mystery...dinner somewhere, not important, drinks to loosen the healthy parts, and then the darkness and ropes about our necks as we made the bedroom upstairs and swirled in the drunken slake thirst cinematic endeavor, VENGO, this majestic ode of expectation as we made it upon the bed, starting removing our clothes and finally, stripping down only to what was needed to keep us honest...Gabriela and I had an uncontested, unsaid breathing simulacrum...we had an understanding of breath and movement so that there was a crease of fainter words as I slowly ran my hands down her hips, across her appendix, through the soft hair of her womanhood...I was young and sturdy, she tipped scales full of passion and we had agreed to take things slow but in one flaming effort of last hope clothes were coming off as we drove deeper and deeper into each other, naked now and rolling like baker like bartender, blood surging and waiting, heaving up and down, changing position, rolling innumerable times, finally ending up with our faces in each others’ rare moments, simultaneous head, 69, glorious fellatio and cunnilingus non interruptus...of course our rewards and pleasures were suddenly sweeping, and in order to stave off orgasm, we moved back into missionary strike pose, two educations, two approaches, two believing strangers staring up and down into each other and now talking in heavy breaths, closing eyes with visions of Mesopotamia, of great wings, affections of divine and saintly sensations...There was definitely not a chance in Hell that we could stop ourselves now...and so in, just slightly to her deep moan, the tip of my cock just in the first folds of her wet wet pussy, that minute perfect parallelogram moment of inner first connection, when surges of sneeze like sensation course themselves through the body entire with an equal and essential likeness...
-Michael Price
