So, what are we going to do when I get out there? Besides the obvious I mean. Our concerns have been so legal, so cerebral, so theoretical that the idea of you as a woman, with a woman’s body, and a woman’s kisses and a woman’s loving touch have, unfortunately, taken a back seat to those other concerns. I’m sure that will change the moment I melt into your arms, a sugar cube dissolving in your rain. And you as well will be sugar on my tongue dissolving.
In this desert of hatred, you have been an oasis of love and support; my tether to a world where the truth is believed, and friends are forever, and justice means fairness. Your beautiful words reach across these thousands of miles to talk me off the ledge of this bilious, nauseous, ferocious anger.
Three years apart and now three weeks. Do you still want me? I think you might. And I can hear your voice in response to that question a breathless treble of high-octave exhale, “Yeah!”