By Misti Velvet Rainwater <mvrain@schreiner.edu>
Date: 9 November 1997

trans-Atlantic rambling

You call me late Saturday night and tell me that you are drunk. This is 
the second time you have ever called me in a drunken near stupor. The 
first time you were in Georgia, now you are in the UK. Across the ocean.
Location matters little. What matters is that you are far away, too far
away for my arms to reach you. 
    If you were here I would hold you in my arms, let you rest your tired
head on my breasts, and I would believe any words of love you had to offer.
Maybe once you sobered up you would have regrets...for me, there would 
only be joy.
    I have loved you through all your infatuations and lovers. While you
were loving that cheerleader who cheated on you with all your friends,
I was pretending to love skinny frat boys while remaining faithful to you 
in my poetry and fantasies. Every time she broke your heart you called me
and I was your geisha girl, your best friend, your wife...whatever you 
wanted or needed. It was a delicious yet fruitless form of masochism.
     With patience and a certain amount of deviousness I have bided my
time. I have grown my hair out the way you like it and have practiced
the Kama Sutra with other men so that when we finally get together you'll
be blown away by my expertise. I've rejoiced over the final death of your
shallow love for the unfaithful cheerleader who couldn't apply her 
make-up worth shit. I've invested in clothes I know would turn you on and
have sent you pictures of me at my finest.
    Now you say that if you got me pregnant you would marry me. At last,
we're getting somewhere. I think.