His hands caress my hair. "Ok," he says, "I'll stay. I'll stay with you."
My leaning head rests on his knee as my flower heart flutters to life.
The voices in the other room are ghosts behind a beam of light in a threshold.
All that matters is this knee, this hand, and this voice.
"I want to show you something."
The night embraces him lovingly and his smile lingers in the space of time.
My feet follow his voice into the night's warm embrace and I reach for the hand I do not see. The feel of fingers clasping tightly into mine is what greets me.
My flower heart.
This tiny space of forever is what engulfs my senses. The honking from avenues away are nothing outside this chain linked alcove. The spirit of basketball hoops are our only company. The damp smell of petrichor is a dancing ballerina, the glistening pavement its stage. His fingers are still clasping mine, how small I must feel to him.
His cool breath tests the warmth of my lips before
Honey like nectarines
A song trapped in my throat, but released into his.
Stay with me.
My eyelids grow heavy with overflow and I can feel the sinews of our tissue molding our bodies together. My fingers belong in his hair
His hands the poles of my back
I can feel the world move around us and my eyes are looking down at him, the glistening pavement our sky, the sinews of our tissue holding our bodies together.
Petrichor and honey like nectarines.