"Do you love me, Junie?"

His name is Sandoval, but he thought
Junie'd be a helluva lot easier rollin' off her Alabama tongue,
the hungry one that keeps flicking
at the corners of his greedy mouth.

"Say it, Junie."
Comes at him on a hot breath, shutting his eyes.
But he can't, really. Not and mean it.
Love? Love you?
He'd never said that to any girl,
and he was trying
not to lie anymore, but
Christ, she makes it so damn hard!
he thinks, fingering the small, gold cross at his throat
in a familiar ForgivemeFatherbuthereIgoagain gesture.

"Do you? Do you love me?"

He can't say no!
You don't say no to a pretty lil' gal bustin' out of her yellow halter
with a waist so tiny you just have to
holdonfordearlifekeepfromdrowning
in your own guilty thoughts
of sweet release. And so

he forces a lesser sound past her sweet-smelling ear,
a murmur,
praying' she'll think it's the buzz of a mosquito,
but
could be an uh-huh
if you need to fool yourself into thinking it so.
Don't make me,
he begs without speaking, burying his face in her hair. And

"Yes."

works its way out before he can stop it;
her accepting gasp in response
is all the truth he really needs. And

tonight, for the shortest of whiles,
he loves.


© P. Gomes 2002

Maria: Just because I know this is one of your favorites. Merry Christmas!