1. (Embrace)
She likes it best when he
holds her tight, sleeping,
holds her to him like
she’s a handle in a storm, a
tree rooted in soil and history.
She likes it best when he
breathes her in, inhales
her scent and murmurs
prayers spoken in tongues of slumber,
holds her close again.
Rain plays rhythmic on the window pane only sometimes,
she wonders what he dreams about.
He hides it best when he
sleeps, mind at rest, words
form and he smiles, thinking:
“I’ll squeeze the life from you.
I’ll squeeze the life from you and eat it.”
2. (Embraced)
She likes to kiss him right away,
right when he picks her up
as an I love you greeting
but also, moreso, when he picks her up he’s sure to be sober.
Ever since that scare two summers ago,
he’s sure to be sober when he picks her up
and she misses, now, the taste of him
not tainted by liquor.
Holds him close, tries to squeeze what she fell in love with to the surface,
cling to whatever is left,
she kisses him again
“remember this feeling now. you have to.”
He kisses back this time
out of boredom or manners.
Silence plays third wheel at dinner now,
but knows to leave when the party really gets started,
when empty words begin to flow and every statement is a toast
to youthful idealism deferred but not deflated yet
to the circular “remember whens” that relate back to relate back to
this same thing here, tonight,
to the places they thought they would be tonight but aren’t
to how, deep down, no one is really happy
to let’s trade one more night together for fleeting moments of we almost could
to staving off silence for a few more hours until morning.
They don’t hold each other close anymore, in sleep.
She likes to think this is a sign of contentment.
Posts
