arlbee

The swelling pinholes in your blue–black quilt reminds me of the times spent making forts. Binding and building with pillow made stilts we guarded our bastion from vile hordes. The musk still smells like your cherry candy scent that clung to you those summer days dreaming. Sweet and thick like syrup given to the sick but fading due to the stench of aging. Like the gaps that riddle your favorite cloth the holes in my memory grow larger. As if time were feasting like a starving moth while the moments between us spread farther. Your face is lost beneath these tattered sheets our bastion collapsed in silent defeat.

I dance with you. We do this timid, light waltz where we pretend we are ghosts. I touch your shoulder, you take my hand. I vibrate with regret then let you fall through. You hit the floor then flip me the bird. I dance with you. We do this strange, complex tango where we pretend we are polar ions. You touch my waist, I grab your hand. You dip me low, then let me go. I fall to the floor then kick at your knees. I dance with you. We do this clumsy, wild swing dance where we pretend we are four. I whirl you about. You match my speed. But our arms are weak, so we let go and slide to the floor. We lay on the floor having just l

She stands there in the darkness of the dock. in the noir of the night as the snow falls on the lake. She takes a deep breath. Her eyes are closed inhaling the chill filling her lungs with the crisp vastness of air. The city sounds fall away as her head tilts to the sky. flakes fall gently on her face baptizing her in winter Another deep breath. It drowns her lungs in something new. Something that seems to cleans the heaviness off her body. Filling her with something lighter than air. Her arms drift out away from her center her weight shifts to the balls of her feet. Slowly, she rises up to take flight. As if her arms were wings r