the absolute last time i shall ever write about you ever (until the next time I write about you)

Too much time has been given
to your face and the way you breathe,
or at least the way I remember it
before leagues of desperation and ground
swallowed what could have been.

So two frames were arched,
each a path of its own design
which never coalesce into a single destination,
and continue to haunt the waking hours
I spend longing to trek down it.

Too much time has been wasted conjuring
images of careless laughter and timid smiles,
so much that this is the last time I’m going
to allow your ghost to visit me
in that vapor form memory so often is guised.

Somewhere I know it’s the same kind of promise
a drunkard makes to the bottle,
only taking it up again to feel that
artificial warmth that can never quite take
your place, but fills the spot all the same.

Too much time has been devoted to fleeting causes
in your name, so I’ll write it finally
Just one excuse,
to conjure that face before it’s completely
and utterly burned.

it's not always fireworks

it didn't start with fireworks. it didn't end with them either. through the dusty flat edges of the blinds light trickled in. it bobbed and buoyed in that ocean-like rhythm as the breeze from the overhead fan teased the blinds. a nudge this way and that, as if testing the limits of just how much light could be let in before the game was over and the jig, as it were, was up.

he didn't know what was going to happen in these next moments. had he, perhaps he would have pretended a little harder at being asleep. or maybe he would have poured even more of himself into it. or maybe he'd have quietly rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. if the other boy (because in this moment they were both boys. it was something that couldn’t' be avoided until after) had woken up, well, then things could have played out differently. but he didn't know what was going to happen and things moved along as these things do. on their own. and in their right time.

it didn't start with fireworks. it was a gentle brushing of fingertips across his hand from his sleeping partner. on any other day but today, such a gesture could be taken for what it had been before. "are you awake? good morning. what time is it? i have to get to work, so do you. i'll text you later. have a good day." today...

the exploration didn't stop at his knuckles. the smooth crispness of the other's flesh moved further down, past his wrist and up his arm. tracing the outline of bone that connected to his shoulder. and that made him shiver. oh, the jig was up. theexplorer knew he was awake.

his eyes were closed, but he could feel his friend (a word that he thought underscored what they were) looking at him. it sent that strange tickle over his shoulder and down his spine. that weird tingle in the middle of his forehead that he just got when he knew he was being watched. and it was all so much, the caresses and the stares. he couldn't suppress the smile any longer.

the whole thing had been, if he could use only one word to describe it, gentle. there had been no hurried movements or quick kisses. no throaty growls or frenzied thrusts. it had been just the two of them. the wantoncraving for one another had been held back by the greater need to love. five minutes. ten. it didn't matter. it hadn't been about needing to finish a task before time expired.

it had been slow and careful. the only noise that had been made aside from the occasional pant of breath was the fan spinning over head. and when they moved with each other, in a pace and synchronization that couldn't possibly have been accomplished (so they thought) with any two other people, they brought themselves to their peak.

neither knew, as they made their way back down, that it would only be a matter of time (the same time they thought they could never run out of) before it ran its course.

blind could these travelers be to the road set before them,
ever their course wander.
hand in hand they'd stumble,
till broken back and worn.

and still surprise would take him
and him, apart piece by piece
as if from blue sky lightning struck,
though it had hung on display for all.

this gentle morning from which
this love had been born
could survive no longer than
the softest heart in hell.

it hadn't started with fireworks. it hadn't ended with them either. they smiled as they came apart and linked hands. gentle words shared between them, their eyes sharing more than their mouths could ever fathom to say.

-fin.