Fragments of language and story extracted from the body    

–by Temim Fruchter 

Almost A Love Note

I wanted it to be you. The first kiss. Mine. But I was afraid. I mean I had played the whole thing out in my mind over and over again from forever. You were a glint of satin. You made my thighs breathe. I willed you to look, like bending at the waist away from the gutter at the bowling alley. I pretended invisible wire, and like hope might hit hard and knock down like I wanted it to. I closed my eyes and imagined I was a proclamation. I wanted it to be you. But I wanted it where wanting was just a shimmer, the idea of wanting.

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