Love Apology

In Christianity we have: the immaculate conception; original sin; the fall & redemption; an infinite damnation & a single salvation—from Moses to John
In Christianity we don’t have guiltless sex
I remember us naked and sexual twenty-somethings without the kids and between relationships, jobs, and life-stages
It was good to be with you and smoke, drink coffee, have sex, and live out-of-balance
I never worried about “the future” if I had US$50 and a working auto
All of life was cigarettes, coffee, and sex—it was fun
Since then I’ve gained: weight; two ex-spouses; a spouse; children; a mortgage; bills; stress; and a sort of thing I often refer to as a “career”
Now, old, I’m well-known in my neighborhood, a practicing Christian, an earnest parent, and by my mom’s definition a real turn-around story—a late blooming success—she is happy with her grandkids and she is now satisfied with the way she turned me out
Life is good and my days are generally satisfying—Sundays seem to last a long time and the clothes are uncomfortable but it’s a part of my life now and one I’ve accepted
I still miss the smell of your sweat and sex, mixed in with the stale smell of coffee and the indescribable sickeningly sweetish taste of your smoker’s body
I know that somewhere you’re also closing in on middle age, that somewhere you’re a “regular person” and married and a mother
I don’t let that reality interfere with my memory of your twenty-something body or your Bohemian lifestyle
I know you’re a child of God, a sister-in-Christ, and a soul of infinite worth in the eyes of God, but…
I will always remember you as dyed-red short bob, hard-flat stomach, impossibly attractive legs, more-or-less perfect skin, bouncy high breasts, and long painted nails picking flecks of imported tobacco from an extremely talented tongue
And I will always remember you as incredibly flexible and inexpressibly kinky
You will always live in that little rented red-brick place and work in that second-hand book store
So, when you called me five-odd years ago after tracking me down and I picked up the phone while “the family” was watching television and I (uncomfortably) sat next to my spouse and kids and tried to be discreet while you asked me if I wanted to maybe meet for lunch… well… as you know, I declined
I wasn’t afraid that things wouldn’t be as I remembered—I knew that they would not
I was afraid that you’d remember me like I remember you, I guess
I was afraid that we’d end up having sex, then a whole affair maybe, and although I really, really (periodically) want that, it’s not compatible with anything in my life—so I view it as a sort of either/or situation
I can’t see myself forever swapping up the kids every other weekend and one night a week
I can’t see myself renting some place near to work
I can’t see myself working through the guilt of it all with my priest and a therapist (but not both at the same time, of course—though that is fun to imagine)
I can’t see myself over-weight, middle-aged, and (again) divorced
Maybe I’m making too much of all this—maybe you just wanted to have lunch, catch up, then wave bye and go pick up your kids from school
It’s funny, though (and I know this will amuse you) how dangerous you seem to me—and of course that makes you all the more desirable and wanton
I could encode you as a tigress, or a Hollywood glamour vampire, or as Lillith—but in reality, to me, you’re not any of those archetypes—what you really are, to me, is possibility
I knew and loved you once—oh, how my body desired you
Yes, yes—yes… I know this is all over-wrought, over-thought, and particularly ridiculous (especially for an over-weight, middle-aged, twice-divorced spouse and parent)
But I’m a Christian with desire, you know, and I have to think on something during all those sermons
So I think on you; how I want you; how I can’t have you anymore; and how that makes me feel
So here we are with this sort of love (lust?) poem (poem?) apology
Not an “I’m sorry” apology, but an “in defense of” apology
And by the way, I still have and enjoy that hard-back volume of Faulkner you gave me over coffee and cigarettes early one morning after a long night of little sleep and much sex