So let me tell you a little about the divine Tenerelli.
First, a few facts. A year younger than me, MJ lives in Long Island with her two children, Jack (9) and Kate (7). She is a wonderful poet. She also makes money through work as a writer and editor.
She is five foot five inches, and I find her feminine and very beautiful. She has arresting hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a nice full blouse and a shy and heartfelt smile.
Next is the laughter she creates. When we are together laughter is always close. She has a sense of the absurd which is like mine. She has a smart mouth. And astonishingly she has the gall to tease me.
MJ is also a handful. She has black days, and rages and getting on the wrong side of her is not something to be undertaken lightly.
Nor is her mind full of crows and tumbleweed. She is full of thinking.
She likes poetry, Godiva chocolates, and the supernatural.
Finally there is a palpable and electric connection between us that is at once spiritual and sensual.
* * *
Saturday afternoon in Manhattan. MJ glows with her love of the place. We wander about in Chinatown and strap on the nosebag and eat some Vietnamese food. Everything normal seems charged with the strangeness of the place and the mingling of newness and utter familiarity with MJ. After collecting my stuff from the hotel we go to a horror movie called The Ring II. I am not very good with horror films.
Me: What happens if I scream?
MJ: (Sternly) You'll have to toughen up.
The temperature has dropped and we head off to Penn Station, where we are attacked by a cockroachy thing that MJ calls a waterbug. We board the Northport train and I reflect how insects mean worries in dreams, and I am worried about meeting MJ's children and her sister. Everything has gone so perfectly and romantically thus far. The woman checking our tickets in the busy and noisy train drops a confetti of star-shaped clippings over the floor.
At MJ's house Jack welcomes me in. He is the best of boys, very sensitive and imaginative and, at 9 years old, is actually making conversation with me and trying to put me at my ease. Kate is younger and is okay with me, but will later become concerned about this interloper and will tell her mum that that she is not ready for her mother to have a boyfriend.
MJ's sister Diane aka Weezer Junior is an instant friend. And oddly, after a short while, I begin to feel at home. A strange thing to feel thousands of miles from where you actually live.
First, a few facts. A year younger than me, MJ lives in Long Island with her two children, Jack (9) and Kate (7). She is a wonderful poet. She also makes money through work as a writer and editor.
She is five foot five inches, and I find her feminine and very beautiful. She has arresting hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a nice full blouse and a shy and heartfelt smile.
Next is the laughter she creates. When we are together laughter is always close. She has a sense of the absurd which is like mine. She has a smart mouth. And astonishingly she has the gall to tease me.
MJ is also a handful. She has black days, and rages and getting on the wrong side of her is not something to be undertaken lightly.
Nor is her mind full of crows and tumbleweed. She is full of thinking.
She likes poetry, Godiva chocolates, and the supernatural.
Finally there is a palpable and electric connection between us that is at once spiritual and sensual.
* * *
Saturday afternoon in Manhattan. MJ glows with her love of the place. We wander about in Chinatown and strap on the nosebag and eat some Vietnamese food. Everything normal seems charged with the strangeness of the place and the mingling of newness and utter familiarity with MJ. After collecting my stuff from the hotel we go to a horror movie called The Ring II. I am not very good with horror films.
Me: What happens if I scream?
MJ: (Sternly) You'll have to toughen up.
The temperature has dropped and we head off to Penn Station, where we are attacked by a cockroachy thing that MJ calls a waterbug. We board the Northport train and I reflect how insects mean worries in dreams, and I am worried about meeting MJ's children and her sister. Everything has gone so perfectly and romantically thus far. The woman checking our tickets in the busy and noisy train drops a confetti of star-shaped clippings over the floor.
At MJ's house Jack welcomes me in. He is the best of boys, very sensitive and imaginative and, at 9 years old, is actually making conversation with me and trying to put me at my ease. Kate is younger and is okay with me, but will later become concerned about this interloper and will tell her mum that that she is not ready for her mother to have a boyfriend.
MJ's sister Diane aka Weezer Junior is an instant friend. And oddly, after a short while, I begin to feel at home. A strange thing to feel thousands of miles from where you actually live.
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