Romantically Incorrect

Years Ago

A beauty tattooed her image inside my mind’s peripheries
And even now,
I still fantasize about the short time I knew her.
(Though I never really did)

I could take time to construct
Her image with
Inscription, but my lexicon lacks the vastness
To depict her on the page.
Besides, I coveted her for what
She stood for
(Or against)

Even on a campus teeming with women,
Most worthy of a poem,
She was the one closest to
My ideal.
The flower that smelled sweeter than all the others,
And all those other earthy words
That mean nothing when you think about them.

Still I hear the
Erotic staccato of her
High heels,
Cannonading on linoleum tiles,
Exaggerated, graceful switching
One leg in front of the other,
As though her lifeless occupation
Morphed into the runway of her
Imagination.

    But why experience amatory burning
    For a woman nearly two decades my senior ...?

Perhaps her visage and frame resembled
That of someone who grew up watching
Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network,
One of us.

But even better,
She stood isolated from all the
Whisper-whisper-whispers of all the
Scandalmongering haute-couturians

What’s more, my late adolescent lust guided me,
I yearned to determine if
Older women exude carnal insatiability
As stereotypes foretold.

(And who knows?
Perhaps my own image danced through her mind,
The thrill of an articulate, younger man
Something she brought to her boudoir,
Insomniac’d over.)

Plus, I was an intimate-less
Boy-on-the-cusp-of-manhood,
Captivated by her allure,
Longing for her lascivious indoctrinations,
Removing the stigma and curiosity of
Male inexperience.

    A young vixen’s vivacity,
    An older woman’s maturity ...
    How could I resist?

But my hubristic insecurities,
And thoughts of saving myself for some
Perfect woman
Prevented my pursuit of the woman
Who may have been
My first teacher.

I sought to avoid the
Constant chorus of
“Ugh, he’s with her?!”
Secure-but-not-secure enough to
Remain indifferent.

Besides, could I match wits with her,
A woman who’s
Supermodel appearance might
Belie boundless intellect?

    Also,
If she entered this mortal realm
In the same year as me,
Surely she’d share feathers and
Flock with fashionistas,
With her magazine-esque sensuality, she’d
Stroll alongside ladies who have men
Drenching them with compliments and presents

If the Gods of time aligned us closer,
Would she breathe
A “Hi”
In my direction?
Would she choose the outcast
Scribbling on the page,
Clicking away on keyboards,
Would she sit with me,
Go out of her way to endure the
Blah-blah-blahs and Ha-ha-has of
Pre-relation conversation?

Or did she only look my way because,
Even with all her beauty,
She could not escape reality,
Players had their fill of her,
Now pursuing hot, young things,
And she stands,
Still in those stilettos,
With naught ...
Only underachievers
Ringing her up?

    I’ll never know.

Neither will she.