Three AM, early morning, the blinds on the window rustle as a cooler gust wakes me from fevered dreams. The cotton sheets pull at the corners and I push heavy into the bed.
There was no need for sentiment in those summer days. We were new to love untested by time. With every kiss a forgotten sorrow and the static line between the stillness and our breath with know how quickly a season passes.
I did not know the man that became of the boy I loved but sometimes when the wind turns the water to caps of white or a forgotten song will play in my head, I can recall the smell of his skin, an unguarded smile or a curve of his body and wonder at all that the heart can never forget.
A magnitude of desire, swells in me, oceans of longing as I sit in the sand, unaware, that in the afternoon, I will make love to you in an old hotel that smells of must and saltwater.
It was the summer of empty and the summer of everything when every day I might fall in love anew. The afternoon sun sliding into long cool shadows as I looked upon you as a canvas, with every brushstroke, embracing the flaws, in awe of the beauty and uncertain what the future may hold.
We speak in the language of silence. I can no longer recall a face but speak your name across an ocean.
In the blue room hidden in shadow, I hear the sounds of the street as a television blinks light, an old tune plays and a dog barks in the distance. You put your lips on my lips, all the while my eyes open to watch the stars shower in the night heavens above. |
