An Occasion and Countenance.
Your body lay concealed in mine; I kiss your shoulder and taste sweat. The moon hung low as I lay awake, watching your chest rise and fall. Running my fingers over your broad shoulders and down your back I tried to imagine a life with you, but knew my faults kept getting in the way of any hope I may have. This year has compromised me.
You stir in your sleep, roll over and close your arms around me. Whisper love that you won’t remember in the morning and sleepily open one eye; the kisses will remain with me for years after you have gone. I push my body against yours, move my legs and nibble on your nipples. Your smirk opens your mouth and presses against mine.
You remain inside of me as we lay butterfly kisses on each other. A small glimpse of trust finds its way inside our mouths as we disengage and lay in pieces next to each other. You roll over and sleep takes you as I place my hand gently on your side and try not to cry.
Days later there is devastation in the aftermath of intense heat. I await your return only to finally recognize your lack of self-awareness. Your number changed and mine stayed the same. I caught a jet to a city of flashing lights and stilettos whilst you resided to a state of ice and nocturnal daydreams.
In the moments before slumber your smile gains my nostalgia and the thoughts of your laughter intrudes my ears. The sirens pierce the nights and the volts of electricity firing within my reason conduct themselves to a peaceful rest.
The reluctance of fluidity spars the occasion and countenance. After all, it was all we ever knew.
--
se la vie. I need to get out of this depressing prose poetry rut. Argh.
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