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Three Dates
July
She was tall and flat
with a mop of black hair she kept pushing back out of her face
She had a thin nose and high cheekbones freckled by the sun
She wore no make-up
Her thin fingers pressed my hand in a firm handshake
She started talking about her ex during coffee
Her ex had worn makeup and had long hair
Her ex was bi, which proved she wasn't serious
Her ex used to cry after sex
Her ex had been abused
I ordered chicken
and she reminded me meat was murder
She said she was a strict vegetarian
I confessed that I used all my teeth
Over the entree
I learned that true love waits
"Celibacy has been great," she said
"It's taught me so much about me."
September
She was small all over, like a pixie
At the women's-only dance at the Civic Worker's Club
she wore combat boots and a black prom gown
When she danced her hands were like butterflies
circling her body for a place to land
When they twirled above her head I knew she didn't shave
We drank marguerites
and talked about building bi community
we slow danced while Patsy Cline sang Crazy
When I got home that night I wasn't surprised
I had soaked through my underwear and my jeans
Breaking up with me on the phone
she apologized
"I'm sorry, honey," she began
"But open relationships take all the fun out of cheating."
February
She was round and soft
and moved like she knew she was beautiful
Her hair was a dark, false red
And she wore blues and greens and whites
The colours of the ocean
At a lecture on Women's History
she leaned over and whispered to me
"The great thing about this top," she said,
"is that it has so few buttons."
Later, drinking burnt coffee out of Styrofoam
I revealed myself in layers like a striptease
bisexual, polyamorous, sm dyke
Waiting for the light behind those green eyes to flicker and fade
"What about you?"
She licked her lips and tucked a red curl behind a seashell ear
"I choose not to label my sexuality."
She leaned forward and placed a hand on my arm
"Is that going to be a problem?"
Later, lying naked like a piece of wood tossed ashore by the ocean,
Covered in her wetness and my wetness
With fingers waterlogged and wrinkled
I finally understood what people meant
when they said sexuality is fluid.
