Saturday, January 7, 2012

A Weakness

He did not pass a glance
when he arrived,
with a body
and a beating heart.
I saw him
shaking hands,
and opening his mouth
to laugh that laugh.
From afar
he saw my back.

He came around with an empty glass,
softly sighed,
made me cognizant
of the controlled movements
of my own chest.
I poured some wine,
to raise the fire
in my mind.

It led us out
of the masquerade,
and for a while
he followed the trail
of some star
in his head.
When the distance of the star
became excruciating,
he came closer
to me.

He spoke
in a language I did not understand.
With every pensive look
he committed,
my skin slightly jumped
and danced.

There was gloom in his stories
and life in his eyes.
We wove
a memory,
and shared
a smile.

we ran out of the pleasant
too soon.
His hands were clean,
and face flawless.
there was
a button less
on his fancy coat,
inefficiently masked
like the clique
we had run away from.
It was such
a tragic mask,
I feared
it might have no color.
That it might be
as pure
as white.

The wind turned West.
Under the plastic tree,
he clicked his tongue
and I shook my head.
We concurred
on a change of scene.

He saw
right through me
when he shut the door.

That there was 
an inferno
scampering down my arms
even in my stillness
and especially
in the insincere censure,
moist greet
on my lips
that I was keeping warm
for words not to be said.
I let
his fingers say phrases
on my neck.

Then he moved the air
And the air moved me.