In between sips of exactly orchestrated peppermint tea, steps on and off the ropey bathmat you snuck near the bathtub, sweet raspberry sorbet with a mosel of my weakly matcha butter cookie and guzzles of sickly rich apple cider spiked with whiskey just cool enough to warm torsos cast in homey yellow lamplight or dizzying, struggling wintry evening air…
In between glances of your unperturbed nakedness in all corners and rooms
In between my curious pondering of world and self invented narrative of what’s to come, between dismissal waves of what’s to come knowing your all-encompassment perhaps already knows or will catch me…in between my daily scattering of the self honoring the tenet of belonging to no one but the self, in between more than the slowly filling of my crevices—the whole engulfment of my crevice-filled husk.
In between impulse-driven honoring and the tacky enshrinement of small wonders, between scintillating revisits of my crackling, walled up fireball life engine, leaving with beautifully burning embers in the monochrome drag…in between the whistling and rumbling of trolley train outside my third story apartment… where in between 35% and 97% have you fallen in love? you asked in between the train rumbles.
In between paralyses induced by your not being able to see past us.
There is a dark, quiet place. Small, vibrant, in flux. It’s under, within, center. In bobbing up and down your constant unhurried current pushing, nudging, whirling.