nina semen. • before the first date.

before the first date.

i open the door. the sight of him knocks the wind out of me. his blonde hair is not ruffled and wild like the day we met; it’s slicked into a side parted pompadour, razored close on the sides. the beard is gone; he must have shaved a day or so ago, there’s only stubble covering his hard, angled jaw.

he wears a sharp white button up - sleeves folded up to the elbows, a thin black tie, suspenders, dark straight leg jeans bunched atop espresso colored wing tipped bluchers. i notice the small details: the moscot miltzen glasses, the simple leather watch, the silver band around his right ring finger almost as thin as the hoop in his right nostril.

he is one of the most beautiful men i’ve ever seen, just as he was when we met and he wore a tattered t-shirt, cut off jean shorts and well worn converse, but now he’s styled like an extra from boardwalk empire…

i want to mount him in the hallway.

he smiles at me, white and wide, high cheekbones leading into deep dimples that cut down his face. you look amazing he says in greeting, leaning forward and taking me in a one armed hug. so do you. in these heels my cheek settles nicely against his shoulder, my eyes falling on the roses tattooed on his throat, peeking out over his collar. i linger where i am; inhale his scent. i can’t tell if it’s the pomade in his hair, a light splash of cologne or his deodorant or soap, but whatever it is i suddenly wonder why the rest of the world doesn’t have the decency to smell the same.

he has a gift for me: a book of Pablo Neruda poems. i contemplate asking him to marry me before i find out he’s not absolutely perfect, decide against it. instead i ask how he knew Neruda was my favorite. he didn’t, he says, he only knew that he was his own.

the marriage proposal dances in my mouth all night long.