misty light and smokescreens. looking across a bathscape. steam rising off cold skin. many firsts have rolled over and slipped away. a hand slices the calm shiny surface. hits the smooth impersonal porcelain. she asks, what is it you want most?
a voice echoes back. for firsts to be firsts again. and for last looks to last. (it could be possible, couldn't it?)
trickle sink of driplet drops. gurgle of water disturbed. many last looks have faded grey, almost dirty white. too many firsts make all the rest repeats in a different light. she asks, where is it you want to go most?
small voices open up. to that place in the movies, with the lake and the rowboats and the summer sun. (some day a boy and a girl will take a boat ride under that big sea-green dome with the calm waters and the trees)
ring ding quiet sing. where, where is that, that, one earth shattering moment? where the heart skips a beat, no, many beats and feels almost a small bird in an even tinier cage, flitter fluttering. then time stops a moment that lasts just so long. and nothing else exists. a look, a word, a mutual feeling.
some days i think i've already had it and am thankful.
Posted by
Marilyn
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