Dark waters

I fall back into his arms – dark covers fold under us in waves of twisted beats. Droplets of sweat roll down into the stream, the quiet murmur of another summer night. Wet strands cling to his temples, glimmering all sorts of wheat and barley in the moonlight.

I rest the back of my head on his shoulder — his breath curls its way down my collarbones.

Black chiffon, red wax, and the half-crescent Moon that hangs over us – voices fade into one another, wave after wave, and the music carries them on into the darkness.

I close my eyes for a minute. Breathe in deep.

And he locks my fingers into a bone-crushing embrace of sorts for a moment – I hear my joints crack as he asks how my boyfriend’s doing.

I can’t help but laugh – every sound’s a shiny pearl, rolling and rolling, scattering on the ground below in an infinite melody. Everything ties back to the origin – the original sin, the original scar. That one trauma that made us. Words slashed into the fabric of our very essence. All roads lead to Rome, eventually…

Every face looks the same if you stare at them long enough.

And so I close my eyes and let my senses guide me as I turn around in his embrace and draw him into a passionate kiss. He tastes just like summer skies – the orange mist that flows in curls above the fields as the day breaks, lemonade spritzers on a starry night, the hum of the midnight city, crop tops and cocktails, the last grain of salt on the rim of my margarita glass.

It comes and goes in waves.

And the lemniscate locks into itself as my fingers thread through his golden waves, counting stars and counting blessings in a cascading continuity of noir stills, shot in a space that’s dropped out of time.

Our physical body melts into stars as the night washes over us and carries away our earthly shapes on the back of its dark waves of contemplation.

We become everything – everything becomes us.

JBV