Part I: An exercise
I don't what his name, nor- I venture to say- shall I ever. His skin, his face, eyes, lips, ears. His smile. Oh his smile. Innocently devilish. Icons: myths: untouchable golden temples of purity. Alas! His faceimage burns in the forgetting flames of further future faces. But then, quotidian cingulomania averts my path, and I find myself, by cruel fate of unmitigated id, at his shop. Like Phoenix, from ashes, comes anew his image: the longing: the desire. From check to check his white teeth barely show. To hold. To kiss. To make drink.
The coffee shop, empty, on stool I stare. On counter, he gazes. On both sides now joni sings. Smile. Wink. Nod. Dreamcast winds lift to higher heaven the wishing washing wills of whim and want. HIs nether lip upon mine, exchange of that proverbial wetness, the expresso machine hums hmmm ummm uhhuhuh hehohehoheho. the milk has frothed. His head locked in mine. Cappuccino: 1/3 expresso 1/3 steamed mile 1/3 foam. Like a cappuccino before milk raising hand through disheveled mop, he longs. The heads separate, vision organs remain still together. From high the milk descends. The eyes dart. Milk to body. Body to milk. Cappuccino: almost done.
I apologize for the absurdist trite supra. It was an attempt to express my whimsical desire for coffee boy.
Part II: auf English
I though I was over him. He was one of my fleeting, hopeful naivety. It happened last year about this time. He made me a cappuccino, since that moment I was, quite literally gaga. I of course knew that nothing would come of it, but it is always good to have a love interest, I am told.
Well I thought that he was just a passing phase of temporary romantic insanity. But then I came back from Summer and there he was. Exactly the same. Still the object of my desire. I applied for a job at his coffee shop. I was not accepted.
I went quite often after that. Slowly my obsession died down. I occasionally saw him and the feeling would resurface, but I- being the master of repression that I am- repressed it.
Yet now my id has exploded with unrestrained energy. The spring weather, filled with its sunny days and greenery, has modulated my soul from sexual repressor to sexual wanton.
I saw him today, and had there not been people present, and I in a slightly depressed mood, I know doubt would have conquered him in the name of me. But alas!
In one year I will graduate. This is both exciting as well as terrifying. They say that college is the time to experience it all, to do it all. To live wild. Yet I have only just started; if only last year had been different, this year would have been amazing. Perhaps I would have a boy. Perhaps a man.
While in weak joy I sit and wait for Prince charming, I ponder life. The things to come. The new faces.
I am not worried. I am still young. And there are plenty of expresso machines in the world.