Posts tagged ‘Blonds’

September 4, 2013

College Girls/Nikki Fine Lookalike

Nikki Fine Lookalike/College Girls

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

 

Possibilities without conclusions within reason, always.

 

Next to me in next to nothing, “Sorry about my mispronunciation, I am used to speaking French.”  Redhead from Ohio, Oh, Hi, oh…

Um…  Guten Tag!

 

Look, take account, not to stare.

All there, and something is missing.

Too early, am I dreaming?  Focus on the material, not what’s under it.

 

What kind of Yoga pants and mid-drift are in store for tomorrow?

 

I saw them skipping through the hallways as if no one was watching, their audience had no vacancy. 

No time for sauntering or talking. 

Walking past with an agenda, I was as the light beam that held me as people walked through it.

 

And they tell you to pay attention, as if you are obese at an all you can eat buffet.

Never today, I am spoken for in many ways.

 

Who did you want her to be, or how?

Was it true to your eyes?

Did your thoughts somehow allow?

 

One could take in tiny blond hairs just at the apex of her legs; thighs at rest, some under thread, some exposed to be what seemed like overhead-this vantage, a view from a seat, of her skirt.

 

Everyone in the class was too poetic; our professor was looking for something more literal.

 

(I thought, don’t take this argument to the streets.  I know a million people who are POETS, WRITERS, and AUTHORS.  THEY HAVE PUBLISHED BOOKS, you know?  They’ll tell you out loud to your face at introduction even before their passionate hand clasps yours for an initial handshake.

Trust me.  Go to any party in Uptown, Downtown, NE, fuck it, anywhere in Minneapolis, as proof.  You will see.)

 

Feet held below stubbled knees, in slip-ons sans socks, where thoughts get long, hard, and lost.

 

Bejeweled with bright rings and things-affixed shiny rocks, on silver-metal bands, held tight to each little finger, on her delicate little hands.  To her mouth, to the air, to her desk, they lingered, and then back again.

 

Is she Nikki Fine?  I don’t know.

That’s fine.

My mind playing tricks again, sitting in class.

I don’t mind.

 

We were talking Shakespeare as the time passed, Sonnet 18.

 

 

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October 12, 2012

AM Minneapolis (Before Five in the Morning)

Shaken from slumber by the semblance of an early morning dance.

The darkside of a lunar wane exposed; the heavens stretch forever as our necks bend to accommodate our vantage.

 

Scratched backs, cars drive by as I imagine their muffled sound in the future snows.

They remind me of thoughts from the past.

 

Black but blue, the shades of everything at this time seem new.

Coffee is a distant thought, breakfast is truly morning food at this time, moments are lost.

It is before 5 am and I do rule this city.

Boss.

 

All is fleeting faster in the vast darkness.

I ride down Franklin thoughts of yelling Powerderhorn, or Southside!

 

She says I need brighter bike lights, she doesn’t mention my intellect.

Off to support, the girls, the ladies, the babies.

 

We don’t know, she can’t go.

She did.

 

Met yesterday and spent the night in it.

Met yesterday near Chicago as she exited the bus.

 

Looked for a blond, but I found a brunette.

Surprise-surprise.

 

Minnesota desolate, again, the end of summer hinting of fall and enlightenment.

Leaves stripped from trees to come, forgetting of the heat, lying in the slum.

Pulling the AC out as if removing a splinter.

Ready for winter.

 

From before, I stand in front of her door on the sidewalk as she rides away.

Days are number, I guess that is true for all of us.

 

Getting along like no other, forgetting reality as lovers.

Good food and good preparation, the beauty of aggression transpired temptation…

No agitation.

 

Few on bike, some with heads down, a couple of nods.

Most are nodded off.

 

People walking, small talk, sharing little light and little thought.

The cool breeze reminds me of my thoughtfulness as I pull out a coat.

 

Certainly we must think ahead.

Or think again.

Or we just don’t.

 

He and she look for release, coming back from vacation I sit down and listen with patience.

I realize everything I need is here, I suppose that is anywhere and everywhere I go.

 

She says I am so one sided, I tell her I just don’t see it that way.

 

My thoughts run, a week ago my thoughts menaced my days.

No more tears, just happiness for what is near.

 

She left and came back, like the bird with the olive branch, like that story about a dove.

Life happens, but when it happens think less hate and more love.

 

This summer is naught only for loss, like live and let go.

I built a fire on the beach, I came to drunk on your porch while you kissed me.

However, you know.

 

Those  stars we saw earlier  that day next to the moon were Jupiter and Venus.

 

Momma’s got the squeeze-box and Daddy never sleeps at night.

You had me singing Here Comes the Sun before day break.

 

You were my guide, leading me to the bus with frosted windows on the journey home.

You sat in the grass smoking cigarettes in the sun, while milling over my finances and telling me everything would be okay.

 

Daily thoughts are of you.

That is how I make my way.

August 19, 2012

Victoria’s Secret

I told her I take no offense; I enjoy being sexually harassed.

 

Ephemeral, fleeting; we just met now she is leaving.

 

An eye passes and we catch whatever it is that is special.

We are opposite each other, in respects, but we know opposites attract.

We come for the checks and to get out of debt.

 

Later:  At the bar laughing, gasping, grasping broad smiles, and social empathy over those in view.

 

Tasting the beer.

 

A piano bar at night, lit up nice.

Glad we came.

Glad we challenged one another.

 

Eclipse:  Moving towards, and covering someone for a moment, and then it is over.  It may or may not happen again in this lifetime.  Lamenting lifeline.  The light shines.  You might find…

 

No wine was spilt.

The encounters you have with the people at work.

We catered to the needs of others, after that we sat, we drank, we judged.

 

After That:  Intellect and free language brought us closer.

We touched hands; hers were colder.

I felt like a child.

 

Cold hands cold heart, and she was the boss of interest for the moment.

 

Earlier:  Ice water, and a mission, customers were kept intrigued as I by the sight and banter.

 

Later:  A sigh, and then more laughter; we spoke of the grotesque, the art, and the thought, politics and evil ideas, of past, present, and lost.

 

Something stuck out, yet hours flew by.

 

Momentarily:  A silvery purplish tint around the lids came through as she lowered her hair.

In the shade color spoke shame of physical violence that didn’t exist.

The things we imagine.

 

Sleep lost in the throws of a substance more important: conversation.

Rapunzel would have been jealous, black locks, dark beauty.

Stunned that she knew me.

 

She discussed how she loved the exotic and how white girls were not erotic.

I agreed as I disagreed, taking in the blond in the distance.

 

She must have been reaching 40 and was literally perfect; breasts, fit and large, hung against gravity like Spartans, frame, hardly there, I wonder about her diet.

 

That can’t be normal, she had to be from Georgia my friend said.

You can make your body anything we explained.

Her friends are all from Georgia, the ones that were talking about accents.

 

The wolves at the bar took notice diligently, not letting go until she left.

 

A few Gin and Tonics for the gluten-free, I ate less bread and felt better this week.

3 Premiums, I could have had more, but drunk people never score.

This round is on me, break to flee, never leaving that moment.

 

Attentive waitress thanked us a million for giving her six and that’s it.

Off to light up the night in a basement, in a condo.

 

Later:  Sitting bedside we spoke of authors, times, modern art to effect, reflecting now I wonder how we got so personal in such rapid fashion.

 

At That Moment:

 

I got up and left.

I hadn’t slept in 3 days.

I remembered my mind was playing tricks on me.

I felt somber and lost.

 

***

 

Transit:  Biking home at 3 am, biking through nothing, is it Monday?  Is it Saturday, is it Sunday?  I have not a clue.  Work does funny things to a person.

 

I pedal home and meet a blond on the stairs of my complex.  As I pass her she says hey and starts following, to a run.  She almost beats me up the stairs.  Confused I offer her over.  She came in and sat down.  She unloaded her life story on me 3 times.  I sat and sipped my wine.  I was confused, but her dress was falling off and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen so I listened intently.  This was such a contrast from the conversation earlier.  She spoke of parties, of poor management, of domestic abuse and verbal assaults.  I sat longer.  Finally, after an hour I said I was tired, so I walked her to the door.  She walked out and walked back towards me.  Her dress and appearance looking more sexual and disheveled; as if the deed had been done.  Sauntering towards me in her red flower-covered silk dress, paunch stuck out, arms set back, legs semi-exposed, she arched up near the door.  She pulled me to her at the frame, my hands touched about her bosoms and backside, we hugged, hesitating no longer we kissed.  She said she’d be back as she touched my nose with her index finger and drug it down to my lips.  Mason jar of wine in hand she strolled out the door and up the stairs.

Goddamn this night is weird.

 

***

 

Earlier:  Intelligent conversation, if only my friends could meet she.

The people we know from where we exist create bliss if you let things be.

Art has a hold on her, and as she says I should move to New York the Piano Man strikes up a cord to the same tune.

 

Don’t beg me, as I smile. 

 

2 am:  The time at the bar was over, night had passed for so many, but we had been stuck in a time warp, and almost forgot from the pot.

 

Like how right before something good happens you feel at your worst.

Like we are evolving-some people are born without wisdom teeth.

Like not knowing if Santa is real is the epiphany of curiosity.

We found the presents.

The tacit agreement between parent and child; forever remained captivating and devious.

 

And we kept talking…

 

Black holes.

Dark Matter.

Hadron Collider.

Dali.

 

We sat, I wondered if it matters if she moved

Our expiration date was years away.

 

The difference between Satan and Santa is the placement of 2 letters.

I tell her without words I will never forget her.