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bespeckled
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A pair of joyful lovers, I
noticed walking on my way
(to some unimportant nighttime destination,)
who, bound arm to waist
and face to shoulder close,
melted into each other, having just been poured
from separate lives into the same tall comfortable glass.
Two lovers, I smile to think,
alone in one another,
deaf to all save the breathing of the other,
mute but unto the words spoken from their souls.
From what I know of wanting,
he owns it in abundance,
and she - she breathes his wanting in to make her own.
Not the thinnest string can pass between these two liquid elements,
not obscenely,
but intimately, joyfully clinging to their soft biology.
His palms grasp familiar curves,
riding the waves of her sides
- a shape that never really left his fingertips
- fingertips that never fled her memory.
His eyes close in her hair, forgetting all sight so to savor the feel of her.
Her eyes open
- curious, I think -
unto the world beyond his shoulders.
What! But, look -
what are those strange silver insects creeping down her cheeks?
What tortured tears she sheds!
As if she holds, not a man,
but concentrated agony in her arms.
A strange reaction,
I frown upon thinking,
to return such desperate affection
with such desperate longing for an unseen happiness, beyond the blade of his shoulder,
that she seems to know will not be grasped -
For her eyes journey beyond his heart and mind,
reaching farther perhaps than he knows possible -
reaching beyond him and time -
and sighing tears in reply.
A chill not a consequence of night
pervaded,
and carried its servant on.
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021110
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