In Your Arms There Is Adore

dice

And then it is spring and you say it’s that that makes you green, not.... longer days mean more, and more of the same the river changes color and so does this silence in the chameleon shade from your tree of sleeping birds you say it’s the river sleeping not the changes that hinge upon longer, green, not more silence de jure, de facto

eager

"Would you like to? Do you need? Let’s. If you want. I can. I will. Anytime. Sure."

Because in your arms there are circles for me, there is the world, a sphere of influence, space for every thought in this head, enrapt, continuous, totality, promises in spite of all that. Aloof sounds like air, beautiful air, when it comes to you.

"Now? Okay. Tomorrow? Yes. In ten minutes? I’ll set my alarm."

Every hour on the hour like clockwork you move me.

escalation

She thinks she has to take it. Your fealty for not rejecting her. He’s just something you do sometimes. You rather her. She’s your best friend. She’s told you and you know. And what does that mean. It means you mean she means to make you matter more than what’s missing. Best friend. Your shrug is most fearsome, a quick jerk. The short occasion she rises to head first, legs dangling behind. She’s going for it whatever it is.

effort

"I don’t understand." "Why do you feel that way?" Fences. "Is something wrong?" Foment. "I can’t be treated this way." Fronting. "One minute, you, then the next, I can’t keep up." French customs on DC streets. "You act like you hate me." Forbidden. "Is it something I said?" "This is really putting a strain on our relationship." Forest for trees.

gee

Group dressing rooms. French customs on DC streets. One on each cheek, but close to the wishing well. Hand holding and card games through the night. These three words between two who will never, but close. A friendly gesture she pronounces with a hard g. Give. Up close, it’s meaningless. But from a distance, from a distance, the whole alphabet of her heart you pantomime. Generous. You spell it out to her stunned mouth. Gently. ggesture. You are walking in her sleep. Her lips are moving, you hear other sounds. The unavowed keeps you close by. But if she ever said, really, everything would straighten. God. Go. Get out.

Ache/Ash/Ashé

Trying to imagine this other possibility. Holding out. For this, possibly. Imagining that you’re trying. Pretty, she sees your color. Precious. She gives you another gift of yourself. Have it. As she sees you, it hurts. Following, she admires your bob and weave. Hula, encircling, half in shadow. Heft to the heavens. This means forever. Both a blessing and a discomfort, depending on how you say it. Hugs and hugs and hugs. Her carriage. How swift she is on the residual scent. He is just something you do between days. But you’re always sure to call. And this has an effect, has an affection, has an aftertaste she savors. Hitherto, this means care. Holding out on the controls, you manifest destiny. She is just another country, dark, hollowed out. How well it works, how well.

eye

Blinking. You would be perfect if. Perfect, if you would. Stop holding out. Blinking. For this, possibly, it means following. Imagining that you’re trying. To follow what it means, the perfect end to holding out, a Rose Royce dedication, this night twinkles onto her face. In search of intelligent light. Any supernova will do. It could be today, tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll say that to convince her you’ll do it without saying it. If. Three words to her beginning with, to begin with. In her dreams, she’s singing "Sparkle". Intimating a one act play, Cameo appearance, a sigh, a wide sweeping of hands out to the sides. Like invitation, but not. Holding out We’ve been there before. "Wish I may wish I might...."

emulation

When you say this, it means. ("Act accordingly.") And when you say that, it means. ("Act accordingly.") And when you say, you say it means. (" ") And what it means, you say, is this, and not that. That, and not this. The tricky song she follows word for word. say we’ll manage master your language and in the meantime, I’ll make my own. The difference between red and white wine is easy to describe to you. She is good at capturing nuance. Movies, mini-malls, spoon-fed morsels from your kitchen pot, your fluttering mothering letters of intent. She becomes you. If you can’t get your tongue around, hers will bend, hand over the flavor in a word your language can use. The difference between decent, descent, decant. Your taster will always know the poison first. The wishing you well. Hold out your hand. "That is a sound I never use." Make due, make do. Later, her small world will scream incredulous and whine: For this for this for this is this it?

enervate

"Don’t do that anymore." "Why?" "Don’t act innocent." "What do you mean?" "Don’t kiss me." "We’ve known each other for years." "I can’t handle that." "Do we have to change?" "Please leave the room." "You’re only changing. "Why can’t you just do what I say?" "I can just turn my back. "Please." "I can just turn my back on what I don’t want." "Please." "I can just turn my back on what I don’t want to see." "I’m tired of seeing at your back. It’s everywhere you look."

exhume

Imagining them outstretched, like a doll’s flat on its back, eyes rolled open, hopeful, or a like a child’s who sees above something sweet. Supple. The opposite clutch, and return to substance, plot of spring greening. Birds scatter grave sounds, shadow your fallen fingers, change color, reaching below the circling. From a distance, this embrace, taken.