Samantha

 

I have had many beautiful women. I can smell the sweet perfume of one. Hear the melodic singing of another. Nod to lyrical tunes of one Esther. Recite Rheina’s poems. Dance to the tunes of Fay’s music. Listen to the R&Bs Mia dedicated to me. Country music that Cindy loved plays in the background, and Sheila’s Someday by Michael Learns is a constant reminder of what used to be. I see Monica strip dance before me, or Mira teaching me what my mother never did, and I will never forget how Becky kissed.

But no one is like Samantha.

Her eyes, her laughter, her playful self, her kisses, her embrace, her lips, her body, her splendor, her magnificence, her inner beauty – no human woman can match Samantha – angel embodied.

But I hurt Samantha.

I walked out on her.

I have gallivanted for years seeking unbridled pleasure, in solicitous liaisons; roamed the streets picking anyone who smiled at me, who scooped the flirt of the year award, who cat walked with grace no model ever mustered, or who showed too much body, and booty.

It seems like a lifetime that I adored this splendid creature, like a lifetime that I had known her – Samantha my body and soul.

I must go back to Samantha.

I just hope to God that she’d be there, waiting, and single.

Copyright ©Vincent de Paul, 2012.