Four Promises (2/4)
Four Promises (2/4) poets-of-tumblr stories
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*The second promise I made to you was to be good, and I think I was beginning to grasp the fact that it might be harder than I thought before that point. In those beautiful summer afternoon hours before the gig we played at the O2 Islington we sat together outside in the grass and laughed and flirted and chatted.
By pensive-poetry https://pensive-poetry.tu...

Four Promises (2/4)

by pensive-poetry

*The second promise I made to you was to be good, and I think I was beginning to grasp the fact that it might be harder than I thought before that point.

In those beautiful summer afternoon hours before the gig we played at the O2 Islington we sat together outside in the grass and laughed and flirted and chatted.

Of course, at that point, I had no idea that we were operating within strict secret boundaries set by yourself.

Looking back at it now, when we were in company of friends that were not particularly close,

I can see the guidelines you had set that I was eagerly bounding around inside of like a puppy off of its lead, just happy to be around its master. Hushed, flirty chit-chat was okay.

Gazing into your attentive eyes until I caught your gaze, that was okay. Sitting close to you and just feeling at ease chatting and smiling at each other, that was okay.

Rustling my fingers through your hair to mess it up and tease you, that was even sometimes okay. Touching your hand, that would certainly have not been okay.

Putting my arm down your back and around your waist, holding you close, intolerable. Leaning back and resting into you to enjoy the sun, abominable. Kissing you, out of the question.

I understand now that you didn’t want anyone to know, and it certainly showed in how we acted around one another in public.

That same day we walked up and down the market stalls several times, I can’t remember anything in those stalls though, they weren’t what I was focused on.

It was you, your shorts, your hairy legs, your light brown hair in the sunlight, your smile and your arms. Notice a pattern?- physicality.

There’s more to it than separate body parts though, each attractive in their own respect but all working separately like unassociated cogs in a large machine.

No, the body has charm where many fail to see it.

Of course, one must admire stature or muscle, hair and youth, nice skin and straight teeth and even the promising bulge that tight jeans will shamelessly expose on a man.

However, the true charm of a beautiful body is in the joints. It’s the joints that reveal the utter perfection of some. Notice how the arm sways by a person’s side.

Does the upper arm swing with the pace like the pendulum in an old grandfather clock? Does the forearm simply follow this motion like a helpless strand of rope attached to the upper arm?

Finally, does the hand flap about in the wind like a flag in a thunderstorm?

The charm of the joints is that when they unite, a person’s whole body is controlled in elegant motion through its environment.

Swiftness and control is what you possessed, and it was what I wanted. But of course, as I’ve learned recently, you don’t get what you want, and I certainly didn’t then either.

The importance, however, is that I was content with waiting. I had promised to try, and now I promised to be good.

I promised to abide by your rules of public, to tone it down and exchange affections with you like illicit notes in English class. That was my second promise, and my second mistake, to be good.

By your definition. Adam Ray Part (2/4)

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