No strings
On the side of the bed she sat,
as placid as magnolia paint.
The doorbell rang,
(a tiny pang.)
She uncurls and cat-like pads
softly descending each step,
careful to open the door
but not her heart.
Hi. He leans in.
She turns her cheek out
and a lost kiss
lands
at a safe distance
somewhere near her ear.
There was nothing to say.
The text had said it all
earlier that day,
“no strings.”
They are in her room.
They are sitting on her bed.
Their feet firmly planted in reality.
Space between them.
But their hands, brave explorers,
unconsciously uncurl
and find the other.
They watch them
like parent’s observing children at play,
free
fearless
frank.
A shared smile.
Foreheads eskimo kiss,
and cheeks brush
and eyes close
with a quiet meeting of minds.
A glance down at their wrists.
And there,
an innocent bow.
One half her and one half him.
They are tied together with string.
‘I’m sorry’, he says. I think it was me.
‘No, no’ she says, It was me
it was me.
A sigh floats them back
and their heads land like feathers.
They turn,
kaleidoscopic,
a pair of mindless magnets.
He brushes something from her cheek
remembering it is a stray freckle.
Holds her chin.
They can feel their feet start a brazen double date,
which is quickly turning into an orgy of socks.
And when they
unlock eyes
It is no surprise
that their ankles are bound like bandits.
They kick and twist to get free,
the string drops
but as she kicked
her leg crept over his
and found such a perfect place,
foot pressed on his calf.
And then arms couldn’t,
just couldn’t help
but follow suit, mute
but intent on the other,
and they held tight
to the rest of the night.
Their eyes are tight shut.
When they wake
they will see
what the morning will bring.
They are tied up completely in string.
Biog.
