The taste of honey met the touch of silk. We lay quivering in the stillness of this frigid domicile.
She kissed my cheek. Fingers through hair. Hints of the sunshine to come. Stealing glances through the window at nothing.
The poem I couldn't finish from last night touched the back of my mind for a flash; even now I couldn't help but melt my way down into this embrace. Deeper still, warmer, lips met. She dances flamenco in my dreams like a high priestess in the Order of the Rose. Here and now in the heart of Santa Cruz we danced instead without form or reason, touched gracefully and caressed with bloody sweetness.
Not twelve minutes later we were walking through the steamy streets towards the final stop in this little carnival of our neuroses. We had said our farewells long before, so now we simply walked up the block to the station holding hands. Silence, breathing. Waving as she pulls away. Silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car.
Later, perched over a cup of coffee and cream, I sent her one last text message:
"We are but deities
and blessing rain,
hands to the heavens
grasping the infinite."
Empty cup, silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car. Alone like before, yet somehow bigger... perhaps a mark was left in some hidden crevasse of my stride, or at least I felt righteous. Silence, breathing.