The Historian
His hands told more stories
than he could recite
in one night.
His calloused finger tips
and extended wrists
spoke of his experiences.
And some scars
marked on his flesh
were like a time line
that showed
he made a mends
with his past.
And I wondered
if his tribal remedies
healed lacerations
that would last
in some hearts forever.
He proved that ingredients,
like vinegar,
had a deeper purpose.
His smile cast shadows
over generations of humor
when he told tales of
watching Red Fox
after harvesting.
His lingo lingered
over centuries of style
often hinting
that he refused
to die out with time.
We…
sipped wine
and delighted in conversations
about plantations
from Salem to Indian River.
And how Virginia
were all dirt roads and corn fields.
Or how meals were picked
from the farm
or came from what
his Grandfather hunted.
He mounted his values on
family morals and hard work ethics.
Even though he said
that his lifestyle was hectic,
I had this fixation
that his commitments
would involve me past this night.
As an old soul
He did the right thing
by focusing his nervous energy
on entertaining me…
with more stories.
like how Geico once sold
policies to woman only.
Eventually my curiosity
kept his company past dawn.
As I laid cuddled in his arms
his rapid heart beats counted
out how many years he spent
secluded with in his own
unusual companionship.
His sensual ways
proved that his age
were two decades
above my own.
Maybe this moment
made him forget
the insecurities that kept
him out of relationships.
Or maybe…
within his strict work habits,
he can find the time
for more wine,
conversation and foreplay.
Or even to…
love me.
As I laid anointing
his heartbeats.
Counting
his every need.
His stories…
went deeper than his fingers
that played with the darker parts
of our fantasies.
Despite our age discrepancies,
I am old enough to know
when a man
gets tired of being…
lonely.
I know he skimmed through
chapters of my own realities.
And that I am worried about
loving too easily.
But I couldn’t resist his hands.
That told more stories
than he could
recite…
in…
one…
night.
Carlene “Spirit” Roberts © October 25, 2011
