I can hear voices through the window, floating on the summer night. Words flitting like gypsy moths between the trees, words drifting through the leaves, words creeping across the moss and the warm rough concrete like hungry caterpillars. "Take my hand." "I love you." "I'm so sorry." "Goodbye." "What a loser!" "I miss him!" Words praying, clinging, slicing like a razor blade, words wishing so hard to be picked up and hugged. Words used like a kiss, words used like a hangman's rope....
And Emily is sitting cross legged on the bed, Skunk curled up in her lap. She's wearing a long white skirt and a white tank top, her feet are bare and there's a silver Om on a black cord around her smooth soft neck. Her hair is hanging loose, tumbling down her breast like auburn smoke. She's taken her glasses off, her eyes are so heartbreaking in the candle light. No yesterday, no tomorrow, just this moment, as my hand reaches out toward hers....
I'm so glad we don't need words.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment