He uses old words. You turn them over, hold
them up in the light and look them over again, again, until you find the thing
that lives in them, the genie in the words that rubs them until they shine and
you can see a glint on the edge of his lips where he smiles.
He smiles at you, so maybe there’s
something in your eyes that rubs against his in a way that makes him want to
shine for you
There is a cloud on top of today, but it
doesn’t have any rain. It wraps itself around the memories as you make them, and
keeps them safe in a place that knows no rain, no tears, except the kind that
patters against windows lit by the fire of burning eyes and candlelight.
The cloud is a warm blanket, it holds today
together against the windows… it steams, and grows, and builds, and cloaks, a
haze made of quiet words and loud, loud, hungry eyes.
Food moves around your plate, your fork
scrapes against the things you wish you could say but mustn’t, stoppers your
longings with the delicious fish.
Smiles nod in agreement in place of heads that
stay upright, keeping eyes in the same direction as the things you wish you
could ask for but shouldn’t.
Words float on the clouds of steam that
have risen between twitching hands, restless feet and sighs that stay silent
with every wish you swallow. They multiply; they guard your belly with their
muted chants until the fish, it has no room. Still, your fork protects you. You
hold on.
He uses old words, strings them together in
a way you imagine clouds are spun; in a way you need to learn as desperately as
you need to hear him laugh again, say your name again…
You say his.
Before you know what happens you say his
name and your voice stills the magic. But his name, it has magic of its own. It
adds its own layer to the words in the middle of you both and you watch it draw
something beautiful, even from you. So you try again, say it again, find
something maybe clever – maybe – and in his answer a wish escapes, heard, and
you feed the others some of the delicious fish.
Your words sound new in the way he says
them, he turns them over on his lips and your eyes follow to see where they end
up. They won’t betray you. There’s nothing to betray. You fold your hands over
your heart to make sure.
His hand against your face distracts you,
and as you bless the hair that fell in the path of his fingers you forget to
hold your feelings closed, and he takes them from you.
Not with his hands, that separate your
fingers as he measures them against his, not with his touch, that separates the
small of your back from the chill of the night air. Not with his words, that
separate your resolve from your reason. Not with any one of them, not with any
one of them alone.
He walks you to the gate when he drops you
off. He says things you’ve heard before. He looks at you a way you’ve seen
before, but still… You find yourself following his words with your fingers,
mapping them out, sorting them apart from yours, checking to see if they go
together. He bends, checks to see if your lips go together.
You have a thought. You file it away for
later, even as another wish flutters free of your belly.
It is later, but your mouth is still hot
from where he kissed you.
This is what the best day looks like.
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Oh my, oh my! I loved this. Love it.. So poetic, so.. *sigh*
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