tarzan loves jane;

your heels thumped on the
hardwood flooring as you padded,
with bare feet, across the sparkling white
and stainless-steel kitchen.

fluorescent lights made for
good household economy,
but I disliked the way they cast shadows
on the creases of your smile.
[the grin I fell in love with
    between our humid summer days
          and frigid winter memories.]

you smelled of high school
and looked like you belonged
somewhere deep inside the heart
of a luxurious tree house.

with disheveled hair, a beer-stained
white t-shirt, and revealing circles under
your bright blue eyes, you never looked
so unbelievably appealing to me.

I could see the ripples of well-defined
muscles arranged on your biceps as they
peeked out beneath cotton sleeves.
your skin was glistening a rich, brown, tan
hue, which could only be acquired from time spent
laboring beneath sun and open sky -
rather than resting beneath rays that
permeated closed neon glow-coffins.

standing beside you in that
immaculate kitchen, I pictured you
as a primal, lust-driven Tarzan,
and I felt more than satisfied with
the prospect of becoming your
modern day Jane.


but we would need to find a jungle, first.
or at the very least - a sturdy tree.