Tuesday, December 31, 2019

New


It wasn't a real color, this outside air, this fog that fell and laid upon the earth...snuggled up to the window and peered in with colorless eyes, shapelessness.

It looked neither cool nor warm, just a neutral.  A neither here nor there.  It was like nothing existed, nothing mattered, nothing was just that...an empty space, devoid. 

Inside the room, she lay on the bed, outstretched...her flesh a contrast to the whites of the sheets...immersed in the linens...conjoined with him, their heads on pillows just inches from each other.

Despite the rather neutral colors inside, there was a kaleidoscope in their brains, quick fast twirling views of flames, sugars melting in a black iron pan, the arc of solar flares against the blackness of space, the small tiny smoke when a candle is blown out...there was music somewhere too, just a hint of noise to occupy the space. 

In their stares interrupted occasionally by slow blinks they conversed...

Admittance...conclusions.

Mirth.

Wry wit.

Mostly it was comfort...the collapse of worries and outside influence...here in the fog-encased world it was a haven.  A place for two.

It felt familiar...known...trusted. 

But also, it felt like something that continued to be the most unique portion...the most appropriate sensation regardless of how many encounters, how many minutes or hours....shared and spent.

It felt new.

Monday, December 23, 2019

Snow Globe Season


He struggled with the wrapping paper.

Not as much as he struggled with the gift though...knowing full well the particular size of the box would fully raise already-raised eyebrows in her family. 

But once purchased it was no longer a weight in his mind...he had transacted and now he need only to give it away.

But the wrapping paper wasn't cooperative; it tore twice...the scissors left sloppy edges...the corners were tucked around the box unevenly...he literally almost went through a whole roll to cover a box the size of a hockey puck.

In the end he stuck a big ribbon on it to mask any imperfections.  It was on the seat beside him now as he drove south.

The treelines were devoid of any leaves, they were stark burnt matchsticks stuck in the dark earth...the road was a black smear across the world and nobody was on it...it was darkening quickly, one day after the solstice it still got dark early. 

In this part of the world.

This was her part of the world...but he didn't feel invasive.  Just outside of it.  It has formed a protective cocoon around her...it might as well have been a bit of sanctuary...it was quieter and more reminiscent for her...she never complained about it.  She returned to it.

And it was beyond the bounds of logic that he would ever enter into it...this place...foreign but familial.  Her roots were as deep here as they had long been in her family...anointing earth and property with the blood and sweat of generations...there were many of her family buried down there...it was true north...her capital H Home...she felt its pull like a tide...and returned to it with a humble pride.

As she should.

He could feel the south enveloping him as he drove, the flattening of the lands and the tributaries of water as he drove across bridges...he had one scary moment when a deer poked its head out of the forest, black eyes glinting off of his headlights in the near-dusk sky...but it stayed still and he didn't have to slam on his brakes.

He knew she was already there, having gone down a few days earlier.  In fact his arrival had been debated passionately...whether to come, whether to stay away.  In the end she confided that the visit was perhaps long overdue...she could reveal what she had been keeping inside and now let it outside...unwrapping him so to speak for the rest to see.

He checked Waze and found himself suddenly near...and a bit unsettled.  He imagined they'd be assembled like an audience when he strode in, a lone entertainer...a soloist.  Very little room for second impressions...his unfamiliarity a knife through the comfort and accordance...he just hoped that moment would just be a second long and then he could find a drink.

He pulled up to the place that Waze indicated was his destination...the cars and trucks parked outside seeming to indicate some sort of party.  He had passed a red barn and he knew that was a marker.

Turning off the ignition, he let the car tick for a few minutes...no doubt they had seen the headlights so he didn't have a lot of time.  He texted her to state his arrival but she didn't respond.

He reached over the seat and grabbed both his gift for her and the housewarming gift box.  There was also a sprig of winter colored flowers...this wasn't his first rodeo.

He strode towards the front door, pausing to look up briefly...here, uncluttered by nearby cities the sky was ablaze...and the scents were of nearby brackish rivers and estuaries...he imagined there was a certain point in her drive, with the windows open, that she knew she was close...she could smell home before she got there.

He walked up and saw lights on everywhere, and laughter from the inside.  He saw movement and stirring.  He knocked and waited...there wasn't a porch light on so he wasn't visible except as a shadow.

The noise from inside was loud...he looked for a doorbell...wondered if ringing it would be a good idea...maybe infants were asleep, dogs were lounging...he didn't want to announce himself in chaos.

He set the gifts down to fetch his phone...still no response to his text.  He mouthed an obscene word and put the phone back into his pocket and picked up the gifts.

And stared at the door.

Inside was a world that was about to be slightly altered...not necessarily in a bad way but there would definitely be a shift in gravity....and he was that force.  And again, it wasn't a planetary explosion or a black hole appearing in their universe...but rather maybe a new moon.  Or a new star. 

But not a new sun...no, that role was reserved for her.  She was his.

He thought he'd knock a little louder this time and the door was opened...by somebody he didn't recognize...so he said his name...followed by her name so there was some context.  It was a male who opened and in typical male fashion he just nodded and gestured for him to come in.

It was warm, the warmth of people in the house and winter clothes combining...the noise level was tolerant but staccato bursts of laughter came from the kitchen.  He thought he heard the sound of her.  It was distinguishable against the din.  He could recognize it anywhere.  Anytime.

A few turned to regard him and he smiled and nodded and he remembered later that the silence in the living room caused a few to come out of the kitchen.  She was one of them...and at that moment, he was introduced in her world...they were all watching...waiting.  He was as well.  Would she cross over and shake his hand?  Would she run and jump into his arms into a hug?

She looked amazing...cheeks red from laughing, eyes a bit of shine with bourbon and she looked like you would hope she would look at Christmas...wearing red.

She walked past cousins and sisters, brothers and infants, navigating a maze of legs and chairs and then she was in front of him...she was still smiling.  And she leaned in, slightly smashing the presents, slightly crushing the flower arrangements and she kissed him on the mouth.

and stepped back and laughed...a delightful disruption in the room, and taking their cue from her they all stood and smiled and came up to him and took his gifts and soon he was standing there shaking hands and being introduced to names and faces...and they were friendly and accommodating...the southern hospitality spilled out like honey and pooled around them. 

He made small talk and pointed out at some of the decorations on the tree...he held one of the toddlers and took one of the drinks offered to him...it was vodka and cranberry and it was a perfect shade of pink. He looked around, found her, arms folded and regarding him...and he raised his glass to her.  She blew him a kiss.



It was much later that he was finally able to catch it...apply it...and return it.  They were in an old room, probably hers but either way they were finally alone...they spoke in muted tones...intermittent kisses and the clutch of two people who now could revert to a much smaller world.  A world where the wallpaper was from her youth...the bed a familiar one where she had laid her head many many times before...but alone.

In the light from outside the window there were some first tiny flurries...unexpected...just drifting along with the wind.  Bouncing lightly against the glass...she mentioned seeing them first and for a few minutes they enjoyed the sight of tiny scurrying flakes against the world, that snow-globe effect where they were inside it and it was being shaken up outside with the lights revealing the whirlwind effect. Somewhere outside the room an old clock in the hall ticked away...

The noise from below was lowering as doors were closed and car lights lit up...their beams adding to the whirlwind as they cut across the lawn and illuminated the scenery. 

Soon it was quiet...and they were laying on the small bed, their bodies aligned along each other as her upper torso was against him and their legs paralleled...they were still dressed, almost like a gesture of formality to his presence in her old house. 

They stayed like that for a very long time, listening to the clock in the hall periodically chime, watching the snow grow larger outside, whirling bits as random as dreams, the two of them keeping each other warm, the unopened box still in its wrapping paper near her bedside to be opened soon...

They whispered into the night...sometimes lips touching, forming words against a kiss...mostly he just breathed her in...this sun, providing new oxygen in a life found in a whole new world.




Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Definitions


Beauty was in the coffee by the bedside....carefully brewed in a morning in Wakefield when the sleet from the night before had stopped its persistent clatter...he had stolen away from the warmth to face the cold floor, pad away in boxers and a tee shirt and slowly open the door so the hinges wouldn't squeak and wake her.

Beauty was in the cold of the kitchen, across the view of the expanse of the farm that she grew up on...as he found measured spoons of the coffee and found the way to brew it, hearing the gurgling of the heated water express itself into the grounds and spill liquid warmth.  There was a beauty in the alchemy of turning beans into liquid...water into coffee...her with him, her into him, them into us.

Beauty was in the bath he drew for her...warm but not hot...an older bathroom that felt larger when she was younger but now felt immensely small...beauty was in his care of candles, the scent of summer linens despite summer being so far away...so that the room felt warm and clean...and the tub waters were thick with a bathbomb that left it opaque.

Beauty was in that right temperature, prepared for her well shaven legs to enter slowly...immersing.

Beauty was in her dipping her toe into his thoughts and stirring his mind...the waters congealing...mixtures of her and him and blurring the world that he knew.

Beauty was in her removal of clothes, shedding like an autumn tree, revealing her limbs and her core, her essence, baring it to him in the comfort of his regard...so that she knew the trust, and the accommodation he would provide....he would comfort her like a blanket in her state...he would embrace like snow on the branches...he would cover her and in those moments together it made it all very beautiful.

Beauty was in her voice, a sound from another room...beckoning... a beautiful word as it announces a request...a call.  A request.  Come here...and the desire to respond, to turn and face...her voice was like a sun to flowers, turning petals to open and expose.

Beauty was in hearing her footsteps outside...a presence...gravity.   A real person, beside. 

Beauty was in the empty bourbon glass by the bedside...a witness to a wanton night...fuel for the fire.  As she emptied it she warmed and as she warmed she aligned alongside to him...they clinked glasses in toasts to each other, kissed above the drinks...beauty was in the taste of a bourbon kiss...the setting aside of crystal next to them and the move onto serious business.

Serious bedroom business that redefined beauty once again...and again.

Beauty is what she exuded in her sleep, her comfort...his slight rise in the bed to see the outline of her, that familiar shape and profile.

Beauty is what he awoke to...her sweet eyes and sleep tussled hair. 

Beauty is what he dreamed about occasionally, so hard to predict.  Couldn't force.

But as he climbed the stairs back to their room, two cups of coffee in his hands, he knew that opening the door would be a restoration of his world, a refinement of his day, an exposure to beauty that he had hoped to ever find...and would once again find.

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Bones & Air


I walk alone in the bones of the city...the high structures...the millions of strangers.  A rain that only dampens and corrupts but at the same time cleanses...it washes our sins and lets the drain into overflooded gutters.

I stride the streets.

A bit of music in my ears, an anthem, a love song.  It is a bit of you in my music, a bit of you in my mind...amidst these strangers I seek a pair of eyes that may look like yours, a bit of hair as it falls that reminds me of you...so many passers-by...there should at least be one. 

Be one that may briefly resemble you.

But goddamn that is impossible...isn't it?  In this city of a million plus how could I ever find another you when even on this entire planet that isn't possible?

I feel the wind whip up amongst the streets...the long stretches...it effects my breathing...my normal rhythmic breathing...

Not the breathing that occurs at certain moments with you.

The streets reflect colors and shapes...but mostly it is noise...sirens, horns...talking in a myriad of languages...some happy, some sad....cannot tell for sure.

I glance at the sky and it is low and bland...stars are hidden tonight...but I know they exist.  They are a million miles away...and you are not quite that far.

I find the city cold...quite the opposite of how you are to me.

This bevy of corners and streetlights...this street of signs and lights...you were way more mysterious...you had no indicators...it was all based on feel...making my way down your avenues.

I heard murmurs...the sounds of buses and taxis...the slight pull of traffic and the spill of pedestrians between stoplights.  It is stop and go.

Rather with you it was languid...it was pulling taffy...stretching and stringing...not breaking but clinging.  Sugary...the very essence of you is a sugar that I crave, a candy-tooth desire.  I find it stark against the rest of the blaring colors and noise.

In this city of millions I find you...I seek you...I exude you.  I want to find you at that corner, bundled in clothes and hats and mittens...

Maybe you hold a cigarette ripe for lighting.

Maybe you hold a kiss ripe for commencing.

No bother...the journey was worth it.  Navigating these pressing crowds of passers-by...I seek you out to find one who fits.

In so many ways.

Hand in glove.

Rose to vase.

I want to breathe in your fresh air...beyond the bones of this city...outside the carnage and chaos.  I want to go past infrastructure and soaring bricks...I want the human...the blood...the real.

I want you to want the real as you cross a street across a sea of people and feel like I could pluck you out and make you feel special, make you feel wanted...make you feel comforted.  At home.

But a home you do not know yet...but a hope you speculate.  A home that you know might exist.

In this city of millions I want you to feel alone....but I want you feel so amazingly special to one.

That is the paradox.

Thursday, December 12, 2019

Air


Invisibleness...

Yet brush against me, inhale and breathe.

A nonchalant glance upwards, hoping...wishing the frame would fill with the shape of you.

This void, this void that is filled with this invisibleness...

Like a light finger gently brushing a cheek, gently pushing fallen hair to tuck behind your ear.

The color of a whisper

The taste of love

The scent of you across the miles.

You light up the room like a candle in a blackout; you light up the day like the first sun after a storm.

I am awash in you, the barest of emotions that can be detected from afar...but felt so intimately from inside...

The shape of a kiss

The dart of a memory stuck in my mind

It is lesser than need but greater than want...what is that gray area between...that undefinable word?

It is rhythmic

Like a heartbeat, a pulse...bloodstream.

It is alive and living.

Maybe it is a need.

Maybe it is required.

The you.

You rush by me, you come inside, you brush against me in your invisibleness.

You are air...

I need you to breathe.




Sunday, December 8, 2019

Believe


He felt her when she was away, a depression, an absence...the wake of air when somebody walks by you with a familiar perfume...

The first flush in your face when you exit into the cold...maybe somebody opens the door up and you feel the freezing breeze first...you anticipate and you expect...you tighten the upper coat.

Distance is a hard, long and rusty razor...it doesn't leave polite cuts...nothing straight and even.  Rather it cleaves...it corrupts...

But you still rise in the morning and see if you can still find the moon rise.  You scrub soap over skin and let the steam of the shower heat start your day.

The sun hints just over the blackened trees of the shadowy parts and you know she is out there...somewhere.  You believe it.  You can almost remember exactly what she felt like.

And in the slowness of the holidays it becomes more crushing, more compounded...the miss of her clutch becomes an ache. 

And it feels like you are barefoot in the snow...maybe just in socks...shivering and you can see maybe a house with a chimney breathing white smoke into the cold air...and it is a reminder that somewhere else somebody is warm...

You know she is warm somewhere. 

You believe she is.  You hope she is.

Her eyes the dark dirt colors of freshly furrowed fields....that seem cool in the distance until you are up close and they lighten into almost caramels that remind you of toffee...a candy mouth and what did John Mayer call it, a bubble-gum tongue?

Evidence, visual...the slight weight of her when aligned...the pull of her. 

Like Jupiter's moons...every night they orbit, caught in gravity...they are visible...present.

She is like the bright undiscovered moon to his planet...rotating...sometimes it is the dark side...other times she is reflected in the light.

She is a gift-wrapped mystery, a favorite color, undressing her was the wildest of presents being slowly disassembled, and the great reveal beyond the ability to describe. 

Like walking into a fireplace warmed room from the cold.

She was warmth, whether near or far.  But still...at times...he felt a bit of the frost forming, just a little, mostly at night when there was no moon...until she opened some door in his mind and briefly sidled out and it warmed him from within.

She burnt like a pilot light in him mind...that low blue color of flame always on...until they met again briefly and she turned it up and it lit fires and flames inside.  Burning through forests of trees in his memory, darkened forests the colors of winter night, and her perfect landscape the color of snow under the moon. 

He didn't always get to see her...but he always believed he would again. 

He loved to believe that.

And hoped she shared in that belief as well.