It was nighttime, but we were not tired. In the bathtub you sat, your shirt on the floor, your chest speckled with snippets of hair, swiftly sweeping the clumps that had stuck to my legs after I had finished cutting your hair. While your hands made quick, smooth motions sweeping up and down my thighs, you looked up at me. You called me Delilah.
We collected your matted locks from the porcelain tub that belonged to neither of us and walked to the balcony that was only ours for the night. Letting the hair fall from our opened fists, we created constellations on the sidewalk from which we read each other’s horoscopes. At that point, we both knew that it would be the first and only night that we would spend together.
Every action has a reaction, an echo answered: though we may just be bubbles, insulated and independent, we have thin skins that are responsive to the touch of each other’s fingertips scratching down the bumps of our verbal vertebrae. You taught me that feelings have roots (reasons): I thought about you for two days straight, and now (then) the world is ours in this overlapping overtime of echoes, echoes answered. The circles we created were completed. I don't remember most things that happened, I don't remember most things that I said, but I know I told you that you were a vagabond, & you laughed. Your suitcase on your back; a stack of type-written pages comprising four months of your life abstracted (concretized); a cap tilted, jovially:a vagabond. We did not expect it to end this way, because we did not expect it to begin, in the first place.
We collected your matted locks from the porcelain tub that belonged to neither of us and walked to the balcony that was only ours for the night. Letting the hair fall from our opened fists, we created constellations on the sidewalk from which we read each other’s horoscopes. At that point, we both knew that it would be the first and only night that we would spend together.
Every action has a reaction, an echo answered: though we may just be bubbles, insulated and independent, we have thin skins that are responsive to the touch of each other’s fingertips scratching down the bumps of our verbal vertebrae. You taught me that feelings have roots (reasons): I thought about you for two days straight, and now (then) the world is ours in this overlapping overtime of echoes, echoes answered. The circles we created were completed. I don't remember most things that happened, I don't remember most things that I said, but I know I told you that you were a vagabond, & you laughed. Your suitcase on your back; a stack of type-written pages comprising four months of your life abstracted (concretized); a cap tilted, jovially:a vagabond. We did not expect it to end this way, because we did not expect it to begin, in the first place.
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