Simple story

I do give credit where it is due. Thanks, CB. You helped me in a big way.

*

I cut class (yes, I did) to wait for him. Instead of being seen leaving together, it was best to meet there.

The bookstore, of course. Where all good things reside and all pleasures of the known worlds can be found.

On the ride to the bookstore, I wished to hold his hand but my empty hands just sat on my lap, curled slightly. Waiting to be filled with his strong slim fingers.

I beat him by about six minutes. Like a stone I stood, as the waves of passersby flowed over me.

He perched upon me, as a bird does, to keep it’s feet dry. As usual, he slid up behind me, wrapped his fingers across my eyes and whispered in my ear. (What he said is lost to time but he did say something witty and wicked.)

In that glass enclosed doorway, I cocked my head to the side and wondered if things were going to ge better or worse. He smiled at my expression and used his right thumb to smooth the furrow created between my carefully trimmed eyebrows.

Placing a kiss there, he told me that I would get a permanent mark if I kept it up.

He was wrong but maybe it is there, unseen, under my unmarked skin.

*

Purchases in hand, we went out into the sunlight. After the hush and soothing soft glow of the interior aisles, the light seemed twice as bright.

Heading over to our favorite café, he slipped his fingers into mine and gripped tightly. I suppose he wished to make sure I would not float away.

But  I was not planning on leaving him too soon. Not too soon…

*

He liked to order for us, so he did. I sat. Jacket and purse on the back of my chair. My purse that doubled as a book bag at my restless feet.

Under my stroking fingertips-nails glossed with a slight lavender blush-was a book. We promised each other to not read ahead, to not give in to the desire to take it to bed with a cup of warm milk.  Not lie about reading it the next day, fingers crossed behind our backs. (Is it a lie if you did not mean to do it but were too weak to persevere?)

Indicted

What do we have between us? You are so rough and you rip me, like sandpaper across silk. I am unraveling and tattered.

All we had is incredible, blazing hot, supernova sex. If you can even call it that. What we do doesn’t actually have a name. It is as a thought- I am surrounded by you and when you withdraw from me, I shrink back into nothingness.

I try not hold that, for once the sweat has dried, we hit a wall, over and over until we are battered and bleeding.

On the way to you, I saw a man walking along. From the back, it could have been you. Cocky stance, his purposeful stride, the way his jeans hung on him, the slant of his belt, his beautiful expensive shoes and his hair, the way it was a tad too long but nicely cut, so it enhanced his head and made him look better than fresh baked bread.

It was a portent, for that is what I have of you; the walking away, the silence of your back, you head help high, as your eyes burn and your heart clenches, from the anger I cause to rise in your throat.

I bet it chokes you at night. It just makes me weep.

Tossed

I fell into a troubled sleep and there you were. As always. Your eyes, full of light. Lips open, words to soothe me tumbling out.

I buried my face in your hair, feeling it spiral and slip past my cheeks, down my arms, the tangled ends brushing my thighs. Moving gently in the breeze.

Then I awoke.

But this time, I could not reach out and touch you, run my fingers along the silky curtain that holds your scent.

Not this time.

Maybe not ever again.

Emit

Your shirt still hangs in the bathroom. I cannot remove it, only brush my fingers over the smooth woven cotton as I enter and leave the tub. Look at it, as I brush my teeth. Turn the light out and walk away.

Paused, hand on the frame. Watching it sway very gently in the breeze.

I want to leave it there. I want you to open the door and change into it, before you ask me for dinner.

You are gone.  Leaving on reflections hanging on the wall, flowers cut and arranged in your stead.

Colors. Sights.

No sound, no you.

After I left the cemetery, I took off my blouse. Pressing my nose into it, to smother my tears. I caught magnolia, tea, incense, my  sweetish natural scent.

So different from your salted territorial musk.

Stumbling and half-blind, I slid one of your freshly-laundered shirts over my head, and used it as my anchor. Lying on your bed, I felt my soul dripping onto the duvet.

You are gone.You were the love who loved me. The one who cared, who would go insane without me.

Who will bury their face in my blouse, before it is packed away for charity, upon my timely demise?