closed doors

Tiptoeing around, as if they are ice, thin, in the spring, about to crack. Moving here, there, dodging the reason why they have come.

I could crush you, her eyes say, but he doesn’t notice, because he’s breathing, in, out, deeper, full of what he has anticipated, of what he knows will unfold.

They want to exist there, aloft and frozen temporarily in the uncomplicated, the pure, the bliss. Skin, thoughts, merging into a moment soon to be just like the rest, over. He steps in, ready to shed his ego and she steps in, ready to make it happen. Lovers circling like insects upon some wanted ground, busy with intention, escaping time to see it through. So many looks, so much rawness tempered only by distance and soon it will cross into no man’s land. The place where rules dissolve and reason slides with the rain into the sewage hole.

Only the two of them now, drenched in one another, as close as close allows, becoming the whole of the part, the step in between, the lost and forgotten void, now buried in the sounds of surrender.

A note echoes, from an old, barely tuned piano; a haunting serenade of this beautiful transgression.

There is a smile, only it is not on her face. The deepest of emotion just below, out of sight from eyes, from wavering sensibilities and cracker-jack moralities.

All that is here stays here, except for that one bit; it swirls with the stodgy air and trails out the window into the street, the world going on in oblivion.