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The secret is to every passionate encounter is Build-Up


The secret to every passionate encounter is Build-Up
When he, she, or whomever you would most expect –--
For whom you’re springing the surprise:
Be it a show of black lace, or tight any-colored underwear
Underneath thick clichés, in an air-conditioned room
(I prefer black or gray briefs because it perfectly hides the fact
that while all animals are equal, a few are less equal than most.);

Or of delicately arrayed comfort food:
grilled cheese sandwiches, sinigang nga baboy,
Tsokolate éh and büdbüd, sliced bread with Star Margarine
and white sugar, homemade peanut butter from Basilan on pan de sal;
and a kilo of Saturday Afternoon Lechon;

Or greeting cards, hallmarked by Hallmark --- ‘nuf said.

Or sweet embraces in a narrow stairwell,
With Security Guard in tow, muttering to his, her,
Whomever’s self, “Miss, imung ID,
kinsa’y imung tuyo --- di ra ba ta pwede musaka diha!”

Ah, sweet satisfaction!

To Expect the Unexpected, expecting Surprise, followed by ‘Aaaaw...’
And, “I didn’t expect this --- you’re soooo sweet!”
To Know Something’s About To Happen
Then falter in misstep, in an elongated,
Convoluted, extended, distended second ---
Pregnant pause --- pa-effect ---
Only to have his, her, whomever’s arm
Hold you and sweep you off in embrace...
(We’re going for slacked jaw, eyes wide in Genuine Delight)

You get the idea.

The secret is in the Anticipating,
Though I know of no ants dissipating
From chemical trails leading to a refilled Sugar bowl,

Knowing there is sugar in the sugar bowl without knowing
Half-expecting, half-dreaming sugar-coated dreams,
Half-awaking to an empty sugar bowl,
Half-aware that off to the background,
Blurred by unfocused consternation,
Is a slice of untouched, pure and divine
Blueberry Cheesecake (from Red Ribbon),
A silver fork: an apt stairway to heaven.

Perfect Strangers, I hear, make willing victims perfectly.
Slide your skirt up an inch, or two, or three, or even seven,
Or whatever is the maximum limit for skirt-sliding
is in your community,
Or gaze warmly into his, her, or whomever’s eyes longingly,
And leave him, her, whomever, hanging (figuratively, though dogs
are known, to leave it hanging for no other apparent reason).

And never look back.
Okay, glance around, just to give them cue
it’s their turn at the cue ball.
See you at nine, say, Krua Thai?

I hear, beggars are experts at the trick
Though for profit, and not passionate tumblings and turnings.
(Other people, it seems, trust other ways for getting some)


It’s a secret only no wise man knows.
The secret is out, I’ve told it all
And I hope nobody’s listening.