And then. . .

The orange arms of the sunset embraced them from behind. They sat on the porch of a house on Prospect St., edge of the neighborhood, right before a brightly lit downtown. Their beers sat sweating on the round faux glass patio table where they both had their feet up. She wiggled her toes covering the Bank of America building with her big toe.   “Do you remember that bit from SNL?” “Which one?” he asked. “Remember, they did that thing with their fingers and they’d crush someone’s head. They’d say “I crush you!” She turned to him mashing her index and thumb finger together her voice deepening in an odd Slavic like accent giggling.                 “No, dork!” He laughed and shook his head.   He reached for his dewy Heineken. She watched his profile, the Adam at the center of his neck rolling up and down as he swallowed. It was almost the end of summer and much of their time had been spent...

where do i begin and where does it all end the places faces that encompass my world they wait they see for the next thing that waits to defy me, surprise me,  ultimately crush me the love the heart that thing that follows we wait and we watch as we check mate ourselves into this auto feeling oblivion a place where we all dance, we talk, we walk  into an unknown something new

                                                                                                                              we create the space around us        that keeps                                               strangers                                                                                    ...

the soft palm of his hand against my face, long thin fingers reaching into the edge of my hair, as i look down. the shadow of my eyelashes hiding the expression that i don't want him to see. the expression that says that this wasn't me anymore. that perhaps the fire from earlier had simmered only to a few burning embers. a look that said i was ready to go...