My world did not tilt
The first time we touched.
Ironically, it was my body's collapse
And a knee slammed into marble
That made me reach out to you in the first place.
After voicing my request to your general outline,
Blurred though it was where it exceeded the frames of my glasses,
You reached down, all concern and missed cues and
Reassurance.
I placed my hand in yours,
And felt my world recentre as I rose to my feet.
We lingered like that for a moment, perfectly still.
I gave your hand a feather-light squeeze in thanks.
You held on a heartbeat longer,
And then we unlinked.
It would be wrong to say that we disconnected,
For something came to
In my mind, our fingers thread together
Over coffee shop mugs and the hiss of steaming milk.
Neither of us prefers coffee,
And yet there we sit,
Our easy banter gently giving way
To stories and preferences and silly little details.
We smile into our mugs
As we drink each other in,
And taste achingly familiar
When the thought of farewell
Overrides our sense of caution.
To conjure you
Is to conjure dappled sunlight
Filtering through a canopy of green.
You move silently
As unnamed creatures scurry and hum.
You are light and shadow both.
What strange magic was it
That brought me to you?
Your arms were warm
Your embrace moss-soft
As you anticipated my tears.
Where others stood rooted,
You held me
And bound me to your heart
As a lifelong friend.
You make me feel
Like a rare and precious flower;
Like a burst of sunshine;
Like a playful spring breeze.
Whatever we may call ourselves,
You make me feel loved.
I turn and walk
From playhouse to coffeehouse,
My steps growing lighter
As one gap widens and another shortens.
Herein lies a lad
Who proudly wields a rapier wit
But does not view me as his foil.
Our weekly sparring sessions are characterized
By a faint shimmering of synaptic electricity,
My unfettered thoughts and cutting arguments hungry for the stimulation he provides.
This feeling intensifies
When our quips become whispers
Offered in exchange for hastily muffled laughter.
Tourdion, Courant,
Galliard, Pavante;
Shall we dance them all, my lad?
Perhaps one day you’ll find me
At the bottom of your closet,
Strewn amid the flotsam
Of fads, fancies, and flames gone stale;
But I will not wander the world for you.
Hundreds of people pass through here every day.
I thought their footsteps might have worn away my memories,
But I can still see the ghost
Of my Welsh teaboy ashke
Waiting for me in front of the Second Cup.
I smile as I walk by.
I can be at ease
At a black tie event,
And immerse myself in the greyscale
Of the professional world;
But always will you see
A splash of colour in my ensemble.
I proudly wear my Crayola heart on my sleeve.
I’d joked to you that true love
Means being able to order wings while on a date –
And, while I do still stand by that statement,
I also have come to believe that a sign of true love
Is when reality is far better than any dream.
I nestle now into the dent you left in my pillow,
Wrapping myself in the blanket we were on top of.
Your lingering scent whispers at my nose,
And I feel the rich music of your voice
And the words it spoke
Take root in the nooks and crannies of my brain.
I am miraculously awake.