I want to stand in front of
the cream + sugar bar
at the café
as long as I want,
stirring and staring —
watching the swirling liquid
dance however it wants to —
as if me standing, stirring,
and staring
was my own dance.
The man behind me
clears his throat and I remember
that not everyone wants to dance
with their coffee
in a café.
So I smile and slide left
and keep stirring.
Your experience of me will expire.
I will not expire.
Your yearnings will shift
and to you,
I will disappear.
My presence,
my hereness,
my nowness—
it’s already
dwindling
as
I
write
these
words.
I am
okay
to
wane
(according to your eyes)
like
the
Moon.
But I am still here,
forever majestic,
reflecting light
with all my Love,
fortitude, and intensity.
We found each other
the way two frightened animals do:
wanting to trust the other
but not knowing
the contours of how.
Survival lived in our veins.
I glide with You.
We entangle our tender hands.
Radiant eyes looking in
to radiant eyes.
I glimpse your softness.
You call me beautiful.
And the fear fires quiet.
Suddenly, it is all as gentle and unassuming
as the candle’s flame.
And I gaze inside You until You must go
and You slip away as quietly as You came
to rejoin the stars.
I know you.
I know
how you place your hands
on your own body
when someone needs you
to listen.
I know
the shapes your mouth finds
when you tell
a story, new or old,
pleasant or painful.
I know
how your eyes warm
and your cheeks lift
when you’re filled with Love
or surprised by beauty.
I know you
and the space
and sparks
that dance
between our eyes and our bodies.
But what I’ll never know is
how your hand fell,
how your body rested,
when your eyes closed,
what shape your mouth took
that warm, quiet night
when it was just you
by the water
on the rocks—
with your book
and our candle—
one sound ripping through
the black sea,
that night you were
forgetful of Love.