by Peter Anderson
Succubus from the tobacco leaf, sometimes I wish you would turn me loose, but you have your ways and you know where to find me, usually at night on some mountain-town sidewalk after a few beers. You know how to get my attention, like the older but attractive woman stealing a french fry from my plate at the bar and girl. You love to flaunt yourself. And I am all too willing to entertain your flauntings. Oh, Nico. You are like the Harley-leathered bartender in that downtown Montrose tavern, one of the few places where they still let you in. Like her, you are both attractive and dangerous, and maybe that's the appeal. Or maybe it's how you leave me with my thoughts as I breathe you in. How you dance your night-sky tango when I let you go. It's true, I love to undo your slinky belt and slide off your see-through negligee. And you smell so good when you are naked and ready to burn. And I love the anticipation of lighting you up. And how you disappear and drift away saying I'm here and I'm gone but there's more where that came from. You drive me to drink when you do that, but then I want you even more. And you are always willing to come back. Damn you. Too often your scent lingers and it is clear that I have been with you. My wife hates you and so do my daughters. You took my old man. I hate you in the mornings when you linger uninvited, though you can be pleasant over coffee. Leave now and don't come back. But you will and you will and you will. And I will say good-bye, and good-by, and good-bye. For now.
from "Coming Home: Field Notes" by Peter Anderson