If only one’s whole life could consist in certain moments. Moments like, the 10 minutes after she tells me she is en route. The anticipation curls sharply around the sternum like glass rings, or bony skeleton fingers gripping me at the center of my chest.
Inhale. My music is breathable, and she knows it…if she stands close enough I will suck the songs out of her mouth, and leave her with no more voice for any other.
Moments of fight between smothered impulse of self, control somewhere in the middle. If I could control myself… she would not, and I love that. Her way of unleashing. suddenly. The way her arms morph into furry striped flanks, her teeth sharpen in threat to bite me, i am prey and pray to be taken. Bearing my neck to this unsuspected tigress who was unaware she had it in her. i always knew
moments like when she finally walks in…and the music plays by itself
a whole life. in walk.
a whole life. in a dance.
a whole life in two empty glasses of Rose’ and a grin wild and sated, she’s dizzy and faded.
the edges of her: a sensuous fog just touching the image, barely blurring. artful like a photograph.
i stare but don’t mean to
if a life be contained here, i could start over.